The Only Way
by Mikarin Aoi
Summary: Carlisle and Esme's relationship is broken. And the only time they both came alive was down in their basement, where he'd have his way with her in the most tormenting of ways.
1. Downfall of a Marriage

The Only Way, a twilight fanfic

By Mikarin Aoi

**Summary:** Carlisle and Esme's relationship is broken. And the only time they both came alive was down in their basement, where he'd have his way with her in the most tormenting of ways.

**Warning:** Rated M for Mature content & B for Bondage **Genre:** Angst/Hurt/Comfort **Pairing:** Carlisle/Esme (both human)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Twilight Saga.

**Author's Note:** Originally a one-shot from Esme's POV (_finished Oct. 28, 2012, posted Nov. 18, 2012_), but as of _January 4, 2013_, three new chapters are added.

**IMPORTANT! **This Carlisle/Esme fanfic is sort of a psychological story about their relationship. I'm writing this for the deep, dark emotions I want to be able to emit and evoke from this fanfic. It's a brutal, inhumane relationship with a lot of pain, disgrace, humiliation and shame since this has **bondage** included. **_I advise whoever finds this offensive that you go back to the previous page and skip this awfully depressing, disconcerting read._** It isn't my intention to bring forth any unpleasant memories through this written work of art. Please understand that **this is not the usual** Carlisle and Esme we all know. So they are "out of character" in my fanfic.

Just to be clear, **the bondage in here isn't the mild/safe/consensual BDSM **that you probably are more familiar with. You've been warned.

About the added chapters, Chapter Two is the continuation, which is a **must-read** before you choose either Chapter Three, the "good" ending or Chapter Four, the "bad/angsty" ending. I planned this only being one chapter, but some reviews sort of instilled something within me to give Carlisle and Esme an ending. **I dedicate this entire fanfic to _letitbe54_ for "favorite-ing" this when it was just a one-shot.** I hope the other chapters will still suit everyone's taste for dark stuff.

**~Aoi.**

**~Chapter One~**

Yes, there was no need to deny it. Our relationship was broken. We no longer were husband and wife. We were just two individuals living under the same roof. We never spoke to each other anymore. No communication. During dinner, there would be an awkward silence hanging above us. No good night kisses, no goodbye kisses before work, no nothing. We were dead. We died.

There was no touch, no spark when our shoulders brushed, no cuddling on the sofa on a weekend, no love-making for over – I can't remember how long it has been since my husband last made love to me. There was no reason to stay stuck in this huge house, in this loveless marriage, in this broken relationship, in this childless marriage. Yet I stayed. I stayed. Because I had no place to go to. I had no relatives left in this world. I was an only child and both my parents died not long after I got married to this man.

Once, long ago, yes, I loved him. But now, nothing remains within me for him. Nothing. Everything just faded away into the darkness. And that's where he kept me. On the damp floor of our dark, cold basement, here I was. In chains and shackles, he kept me here.

Naked in the dark, I waited. He wasn't a bad man, my husband. He didn't keep me down here for a whole day. He always let me go. I needed to do house chores. Coming from the hospital at late hours, he didn't have time to put up with anything as mundane as house chores. That was my responsibility, he told me. And I knew that very well.

The sound of car tires pulling up to our house reached my ears. He was home. He'd come in through the kitchen door. He never used the front door anymore. He said something about not coming home to be home, he came home to eat and sleep, so he always entered the kitchen first.

I never came to the door to greet him anymore. He yelled at me when I did. He said he was sick and tired of hearing me greet him welcome back home. That was the first time he pushed me down to the ground. Shaking, I tried to stand up, but he already pinned me back down. And there on the kitchen floor, that day, was the first time he violated me. At first, I resisted. He held a knife to my neck as I struggled. I could feel the sharp blade penetrate my skin, a stinging pain coursing through my body. I screamed and cried at the pain, yet all he did was hold up the knife to the light and admired it. Putting it to his lips, he licked my blood off the blade, lapped at the blood trickling down my neck, kissed my wound then forced me to drink my own blood as he transferred it from his tongue to mine, which he pulled out forcefully from my mouth with his hand covered in my blood.

I saw a wicked grin on his lips, and I could feel his hardened member straining against the front of his slacks as he grinded his hips against mine. He didn't take the time to pleasure me. No, he was quick about it. Our clothes still on, his growing erection springing out from his zipper, he plunged in mercilessly and didn't rest until he filled me with the filth he gave me.

I didn't fight it. I was confused. He never was aggressive before. I couldn't think from the pain I felt, from both my slashed neck and my broken heart.

I thought another episode like that would never happen again. I was so wrong. That dreadful incident on our kitchen floor two weeks ago was the beginning of all this. He became obsessed with bondage. He bought all these equipment that was now here in the basement, to tie me up, hurt me, punish me.

Broken as I was, I gave up. I let him do every wicked thing he wanted with my body. And since then, I obeyed his every command. Most days he'd lock me up right after breakfast before he'd leave for work. Sometimes, he didn't. Today was one of the former. I've been in this basement for about fourteen hours, if my calculation was right.

The first time I was down here, I felt humiliated. He watched me do private things in front of him. He never made me use the bathroom while we were in one of these sessions. The first time he watched me urinate in front of him, he asked me to squat down with my legs spread for him to see everything. As my husband looked on as I urinated, I saw him shamelessly stroke his cock.

That, in return, turned me on. I was ashamed of that fact. My urine that pooled on the cold basement floor in front of me was such a big shame, I couldn't look at myself in the mirror after that session, remembering how I did something like that like an animal just doing it anywhere. I was glad he never went as far as to watch me do another disgusting thing that also required the bathroom. With that, he was generous. He always let me go to the bathroom for that other disgusting thing.

I heard the kitchen door close, and I knew he was about to remove his jacket, hang it on one of the hooks by the front door, remove his shoes and line it meticulously with the others in the shoe cabinet. Then he'd go into his room, shower, and come down here, naked and already as hard as a rock.

A small light bulb in the middle of the room was the only source of life that switched on as the door to the basement opened. I watched my husband descend the stairs, his body still as flawless as I could remember. He was the perfect fit to my own body. I remembered the first time he touched me intimately. It was our wedding night. I was an inexperienced woman and as scared as I was that night, I trusted my husband wholeheartedly. And he was marvelous in handling me. He held me like I was easily breakable as porcelain. He didn't force his way inside me. He waited patiently until I opened up myself for him. He taught me that no shame ever came from love-making. He taught me how to touch him, where to touch him, just as I learned from him where I liked to be touched. That night was almost nine years ago… Yes, we've been married for eight years now… If I wasn't mistaken, today… was our ninth wedding anniversary… Yes, today was–

The sound of a chair being dragged caught my attention. My husband said nothing as he released me from my chains and pushed me onto the chair. I waited as he pulled my hands behind the chair and enslaved them in cuffs, then tied a rope around my belly to keep me tied to my seat.

I wondered what kind of punishment he'd do to me today. Will it be–

Before my thoughts could wander, my husband lifted my head to meet his unnerving gaze, but I kept my eyes away. I used to love the mesmerizing color of his eyes, the entrancing shade of a stormy ocean, but lately, it's just been too intimidating to keep looking at. He always glared at me coldly, and I knew that look meant he was turning his anger that he felt toward me into decadent, lustful, impure thoughts. The truth was I was scared of him. Lately, I've always been scared of him. We were no longer the happily wedded couple nine years ago. He became a stranger to me. And I didn't know what he was capable of.

"Look at me, you bitch."

His words no longer surprised me. It's been two weeks since the first time I was down here. Ever since then, he never said my name, nor did he ever say my name anymore once he'd reach his fulfillment… It shouldn't have bothered me since our relationship was long dead. But I did wish he would at least say my name in passing during his moments of pleasure… It made me feel needed. But then again, why would this stranger of a man need me? He no longer needed me. All I was good for, all my worth – was to be the woman who took care of the house.

_Slap!_

The scorching pain on my cheek took me by surprise.

"Fucking bitch. I said look at me."

Slowly lifting my head back up, I bravely met his gaze. I could see the hatred he had for me gleaming in his eyes. Today, he seemed angrier than I've ever seen him.

"You better learn your place, you fucking bitch. Remember, you vowed to respect, honor and obey your husband."

I wondered if he knew today was our ninth wedding anniversary… I can even remember the day he told me he wanted to have a renewal of vows every ten years… Next year, we would have had that… if only the happiness of our relationship could've lasted until then… But no, it's been probably three years since we've been truly happy together… When one day, everything just… changed.

What changed? What happened? I keep asking myself, yet never finding the answer…

He released the hold on my face and pushed it to the side, my hair falling across my eyes. I felt used, reused, misused and abused. I wanted it all to end.

I could hear him setting up an equipment a few steps from where I sat, silently waiting, praying. It's been ages since I prayed. Maybe that was one of the causes for this marriage to fall? I didn't pray enough for our happiness? Some days, I'd give up thinking what made this marriage fall apart, and just blame everything on myself. Sometimes, I believed it. Sometimes it felt like I was the reason this didn't work out.

"Face front, you little cunt."

Just as he commanded, I faced front and my eyes grew wide at what I saw. Was he planning to take this all on tape? This was a new level of shame. I couldn't bear the thought of him keeping something this degrading for him to watch repeatedly. But I didn't say anything. I never dared to speak. I was a woman of little courage and of little confidence. That's why when I met him, he gave me courage, and he boosted my confidence. He helped me from being weak. He made me grow, made me strong. But now that he was no longer the man I married, I was back to the frail, scared, vulnerable woman I always was.

He moved behind me and I could feel him lean over to rest his hands on my thighs. With his breath against my nape, I could feel my senses clouding. The fresh scent of him from his shower filled my nostrils, making me miss freshness and cleanliness. All I felt was filth. And that… was how he treated me. Like filth.

With one brash movement, he grabbed my legs and spread them apart and I couldn't refrain myself from the gasp I let out. It hurt.

His hands grabbed my breasts, kneading them harshly in his palms, pulling and tugging on my nipples painfully, then soothingly. The peaks of my breasts hardened under his touch, and I knew that was what he was waiting for. Hearing him move away from me, I knew what he was getting. Those little clamps that brought both pain and pleasure… I still couldn't comprehend how pain could ever be pleasurable. But it was. Sometimes, it was.

I tried to keep my mouth shut as the clamps pinched down on my nipples, but I couldn't restrain myself from the shriek I inadvertently let slip past my lips. The pain set in, then the pleasure. Later, it'll all just be numbness and soreness.

I watched my husband kneel down in front of my spread legs. For a moment, he just stayed there in silence. I waited for something. Anything.

What I didn't expect was another clamp that he kept hidden in his hand which he finally pinched down on no place else but my clit. Even I surprised myself with the shrill scream I couldn't contain.

Before I could even get accustomed to the new added pain, he plunged three fingers into me mercilessly, his fingers quick and unrelenting. I could feel tears starting to form in my eyes, not knowing whether they were tears from the pain or the pleasure.

"You'll cum for the camera, you slut."

I could barely comprehend anything he was saying. My mind wasn't thinking. It wasn't doing anything. Except concentrating on the pain and pleasure I was receiving. I knew the feeling of my climax building, and I knew I needed release soon. But having all this saved onto tape, I held myself off for as long as I could. Though I knew no matter how much I fought it, I'd end up cumming all over his fingers. I knew that's what he wanted. He loved it when I squirted. I knew how much it turned him on.

"CUM, YOU MOTHERFUCKING CUNT!"

His fingers quickened and deepened, curling inside me, beckoning me to let it all out. What he did next did it. With one flick of the clamp on my clit made me release everything I was desperately trying to hold in. He moved away just in time to let the video camera capture the height of my ecstasy. I felt embarrassed as I watched the spurt of my cum gush out of me. I could feel it leak onto the chair, dripping on the edge before scattering all over the floor beneath me.

My husband kneeled back in front me and lapped up at my juices in brash, impetuous, forceful licks. His tongue dove inside my wet walls, licking and tasting. I felt his finger graze along my slit, and I knew he'd lift it up to my mouth.

"Taste your own sluttiness, you motherfucking cunt."

I opened my mouth and offered up my tongue, waiting and watching as he stood up, until he forced his finger all the way to the back of my throat. As he withdrew it, I couldn't help but cough from the gagging feeling he brought forth. He smirked at the pained expression on my face.

I was freed from all three clamps as he readied me for the next position. I felt the rope around me loosen and the chair from under me vanish as I now was on my knees, my hands still cuffed and held behind my back. His one hand held up my hair in a ponytail, the other cupped my chin forcibly.

"Open your fucking mouth."

Doing as I was told, I knew that what was coming now was the part I hated the most. This was when he was most vicious. I did enjoy pleasuring him with my mouth, but not when he was too forceful on me… And in the two weeks we've had these sessions, I've hated blowjob.

"Suck it, bitch."

Hesitantly, I took him in my mouth, his whole cock never fitting inside my mouth completely. His package was huge, and I've always felt incompetent compared to other women who could deepthroat men easily. And this was why he was always forceful. He loved having his cock all the way inside my mouth. He loved hearing me gag.

I took my time, like I always did when I sucked him off. The salty taste of his precum in my mouth as I sucked away on his cock spread across my taste buds. He tasted delicious. He always has been appetizing. I knew soon enough, he'd start thrusting his hips to bury his cock deeper in my mouth, and just as soon as I thought it, I felt one brutal shove as he inched inside further.

Both his hands now grabbed my head and guided my lips on his cock in quick back and forth motions, the sound of my mouth sloppily leaving trails of my saliva down his sac.

He then pulled my head away from his member and thrust in then pulled out completely before thrusting back in. I kept my mouth open like the good girl I was supposed to be. Whenever he did it this way, it was comfortable enough.

And just as I knew he'd do after a while, he kept his cock inside my mouth and just kept thrusting in until he absolutely sheathed himself inside the wet cavern of my mouth, filling it entirely. I could feel the tip of his cock hit the back of my throat, and I forced my mouth to open wider, trying to accommodate him more fully. I heard myself making the glugging sound that came naturally whenever his cock hit deep inside my mouth, which also sometimes came with the gagging noise. My mouth was so full of him.

This time, I knew the tears I held back were of pain. It wasn't easy having seven inches inside my mouth. The sounds he made were like music to my ears. Even though he never said my name, I was more than pleased to know I could still give him pleasure.

"Take it all, you whore. Swallow my fucking cum."

His thrusts became more forceful, his hands pulling and tugging on my hair making me want to cry out loud, everything seemed to overwhelm me with pain until finally, all his filth emptied inside my mouth. And as he ordered me to, I swallowed it all, something I only started doing two weeks ago, on the first day he tied me up down here…

Feeling him withdraw from my mouth, I let myself breathe. But resting was something I never could have. He never relented. He never stopped.

The painful tug on my hair as he pulled me up to my feet was brutal. My mouth was agape, a silent cry of pain ringing in my head. His face moved close to mine, just to spit into my open mouth.

"You're a fucking whore."

I heard the pull on chains, knowing I'd now be hurt physically. The chain hanging on the low ceiling above me had a hook at the end, and that's where he placed the chain of my handcuffs. My hands coiled around the hanging chain to keep myself standing steadily, the strength of my body leaving me already.

I knew what was coming next and just the thought of it made me want to scream.

_SMACK!_

My body propelled forward as the wooden paddle that he loved using to spank my ass gave me one derisive whack. I despised it. Every time the pain started dulling, he'd do it again. And again. These times, I always screamed with each hit. I always begged in my mind for him to stop it. But once again, I couldn't voice it out. I hated myself for my own cowardice.

To distract myself from every ruthless blow of the paddle, I counted each hit. Today, he finished at twenty. The sore pain on both my ass cheeks, he always caressed right after. Then he'd cruelly spank both with his bare hand.

He turned me around to face the camera once more and forced me back down onto the chair, my arms fully stretched upward, my hands still clinging onto the chain hanging above me. Having a hard surface underneath the sore cheeks of my butt added to the discomfort I was already feeling. But I kept my mouth shut.

My husband stepped away from me and made his way to the table located against the wall. This time, I had no idea what he'd be getting next.

I heard him light a match. And as he turned, a thick white candle was in his hand.

_No!_

The fear within me surged to panic. The coldhearted smirk on his face made me want to beg his forgiveness for every wrong thing I've done.

He held the candle above my breast, and I shut my eyes, praying this was all a bad dream, a very bad dream. But the blistering drop of wax that landed on my breast then slid down over my nipple awoke me to reality. The sweltering heat made me cry out loud, but he never paused to give me a break. He dropped the candle lower, the wax marking me from my breast to my nipple, down my belly until it reached…

My legs were forcibly spread apart and I watched my husband blow the candle out. For a second, I believed I was safe from more of the burning sensation against my skin, but I knew it was all just futile wishes as he let the entire remaining wax drop onto my clit heartlessly and I felt the searing burn slide down the sides of my entrance. He then knelt in front of me and broke into an evil laugh.

"Look how wet your pussy got from that, you horny little cunt."

And with one brusque shove, he forced the end of the thick candle inside me without a thought.

"Stop it! Please!"

But my pleas fell on deaf ears. With each brutal shove, I begged and pleaded for him to stop. The annoyed expression on his face showed and his hand went up my throat, choking me to be unable to speak.

"You just shut up and enjoy this thoroughly."

I felt the air being cut off as his hand tightened around my neck. I could hear the nonsensical choking noises I was making as my tears fell uncontrollably down my cheeks. The thickness of the candle stretched me enormously. I knew my husband enjoyed seeing my pussy stretched wide open. During my first week down here, he had inserted so many different things inside me that I could barely keep count.

I could feel the room getting darker and my eyes rolling to the back of my head. My mind was foggy. I couldn't breathe. My hands started to loosen around the chain above me. I was losing consciousness. The pressure of his hand on my neck tightened and I was sure to pass out any minute, until he completely let go and I gasped for air desperately, only to lose it again as the candle hit inside me brutally, making me scream out loud as my second release shot out of me, pushing the candle out entirely.

I was barely ready for another penetration, when I felt myself being pierced by his cock. My mind couldn't even register the moment when he pulled me up to stand, sat himself down on the chair and impaled my pussy with his hard cock. My hands tightened around the chain once again as his hands gripped my hips harshly to make me fall back to his cock with such fierce intensity.

He filled me to the brim, deep and hard, his rhythm implacably painful and punishing.

The sudden movement of him standing up, my legs bent at my knees with his hands under them holding me up, took me by surprise.

I took the courage to look at my husband's handsome features. The beautiful blonde of his hair fell across his blue-gray eyes that were focused on the place where we were connected, his thrusts still as unforgiving as before. The toned muscles on his arms held me up perfectly, his strength admirable. I longed to wrap my arms around them and feel protected once again. But I knew he'd never take me into his arms lovingly ever again.

The amazing sculpt of his torso pushed up against my breasts, the remarkably attractive Adam's apple at the center of his neck as he threw his head back, the rigidity of his thighs, the power of his hips, the strength in his legs, they all marked the wonderful man I married and this was the only time I could carve into my mind every perfection about him. I knew the harsh truth that he now used all of it only during these sessions to punish me.

His head leveled to mine, his eyes snapped open and stared at me in disdain. But just as soon as I noted his anger, his eyes softened. And for a split second in time, I felt loved. A glint in his eye made me aware of the tears he was holding back.

"Carlisle…"

I knew it was a mistake for me to speak, because just as soon as his name left my lips, he gave me another violent, vicious, harsh thrust deep inside me. With my head falling back, my climax nearing, I felt the energy of my whole body being sapped away as he unceasingly rammed into me.

His quick thrusts were erratic, deep, and the anger he had for me broke me with each one. I couldn't hold the tears of my misery.

The sudden stop to his movements made me look back at him. He unceremoniously dropped my legs down, my feet touching the cold basement floor. In one harsh turn, he twisted my body around for me to once again be facing the video camera. I felt him penetrate me from behind, his thrusts as demanding and as vehement as before.

His hands roughly palmed my breasts, my nipples tautening under his cold touch. One hand reached up to my neck, once again tightening around it, while the other slapped my breast painfully, his nails digging into the sore softness of my skin.

My legs buckled from underneath me and I held onto the chain tighter. I was so close to passing out. But the cool touch of his finger close to the little hole above where we were connected snapped my awareness back into me.

Fear struck into me and I felt my heartbeat racing in restless, frenzied rhythms. Never, in the past two weeks had he ever gone this far before. He couldn't possibly force himself in there!

I felt him pull out of me and push the upper half of my body to bend me at my waist. There was a slight difficulty to stay bent with my arms still outstretched upward, my hands no longer clinging to the chain from exhaustion. I kept my head bowed down, my hair falling over, blocking my eyesight. With my eyes shut, I waited for all this to be over.

The wetness of his slick finger pushed forward and forced itself into the tightness of my unused asshole. My lips started to quiver and I bit down on my lower lip to stop it. The strange discomfort and foreign sensation of something inside _there_ scared me. I wasn't at all prepared for what was coming next.

Another digit added, and I wriggled my hips, desperately trying to get them out of me. A painful smack on the soreness of my asscheek made me hiss in pain and my thrashing to stop.

My husband walked away from me and I listened to the materials on the table being thrown casually and carelessly. I didn't dare look at my husband coming back. I didn't want to know what he'd do to me next.

The feeling of a small, circular, foreign object enter into my hole hurt. But I kept my mouth shut. In one forceful shove, the foreign object that felt like multiple beads was pushed inside me and I tasted the blood on my lower lip as my shrill cry resonated throughout the four corners of this cellar, echoing off the silent walls.

I clenched my teeth together and willed my mind to ignore the pain. The beads were withdrawn out of me in one swift pull and I exhaled a deep breath only to intake a sharp one again as the beads were forcefully inserted back inside in one push.

Once again, I found myself thrashing around, and this time, I begged him to stop.

"Stop it! Please! It – It hurts!"

The beads were left inside of me as my husband came around front. I faced up ahead with whatever strength I had in me left. His huge cock was right in front of me. With one sharp tug on my hair, I had it deep in my mouth, choking me once again. He forced my head up and down on him, forcing me to suck it all.

Then as fast as he had been shoving himself into my mouth, was as fast as how he fastened a gag ball in my mouth to replace himself.

"Shut up and enjoy how I fuck your tiny little asshole."

My muffled protests now were of no use. My husband tore the beads away from inside me and replaced it with his huge self. I could feel his width stretching my ass wide open, and as he forced himself back in, my futile screams, begging and pleading behind my gagged mouth ceased and pitiful sobs were the only thing I had in my strength left to emit.

For a minute, he was still inside me. Then I felt my body turn upright, and his hands dug beneath my knees and pushed it up. With my legs spread wide open, I felt humiliated beyond belief. Right in front of me, the camera captured everything. My wet pussy, dripping shamelessly, while inside my tight little asshole, a huge cock speared into me.

With nothing else supporting me but the strength of his hands and the upward motion of his hips, my hands reached for the chain once again. I couldn't stop my tears. I was mortified, knowing all my shame was captured in that recording video.

For a brief moment, I was free of any penetration. My feet were back on the ground. I heard my cuffs unlock and felt my hands fall to my sides. I couldn't keep myself standing. And I didn't have to. He pushed me down to the ground, my knees and hands scraped by the rough edges of the floor. With what little strength I had left in me, I supported my weight on my wounded knees and hands.

Just as I expected it, he plunged into my ass once again and my nails scratched along the floor from the gaping, ripping sensation of every vicious, cruel thrust that tore me wide open.

His arm slinked around my hips and his hand wound its way to my center. His fingers worked on my clit, rubbing in circular motions then I felt a sharp slap against it, making my hips grind against him, inadvertently inviting him to plunge into my ass deeper. The stifled scream I emitted seemed to spur him on as his thrusts turned ruthless.

All of a sudden, I felt him inside my pussy. Then back to my ass. He alternated between the two. He drove into me repeatedly, ruthlessly, relentlessly. Pounded into me mercilessly.

His nails dug into my skin, his thrusts propelled my body forward, my breasts hitting the cold floor, my sensitive and sore nipples scraping against the hard surface. Through my gag, I begged him to be done with it. But even I myself couldn't comprehend what I was trying to say with the ball between my lips, trails of my saliva running down the corners of my mouth. I couldn't even begin to imagine how filthy I looked like.

He filled my ass with his filth. And let my pussy cum with his fingers.

At the end of everything, he removed the gag from my mouth and pushed me onto the floor callously with his foot on my bare back.

"You filthy slut."

I heard him spit and I felt it fall onto my back. I couldn't move.

By the end of our session, my whole body was sore. My whole self was broken. My husband left me on the ground, cold and unwanted, misused and abused. With all the filth from our session, the dirt, the sweat, everything sticking onto me, he left me here. The sobbing that came from deep within my chest finally burst out as my husband left the basement. My tears spilt onto the freezing, hard surface of the floor, my damp hair blocking my eyesight. I was left here with the burden to bear a broken heart, a broken soul, a broken marriage.

We were broken. Too broken.

I knew I could leave though I knew not where to go. I knew I could earn for myself and start life anew. But somehow, every time he tied me up, every slap I got across my face, across my breasts, every smack across my ass, every brusque shove he'd pound into my core, every pinch of those nipple clamps, every time he choked me with his hand around my neck, every time he'd make me gag with his thick engorged cock shoved down my throat – that was the only time I felt alive.

That was the only time we both felt alive. I never left. Because somehow I believed that through all that, he still loved me. And for some illogical reason, I still loved him. But this was the only way our relationship survived. This was the only way he could love me now. This was the only way he could show me how.

~o~

**Author's Note: So I know that was pretty dark, demeaning and degrading, but hey, it's bondage. Now I just need to know if it was any good or if I suck at this kind of writing.**

**So leave me some love and review, will ya?**

**~Aoi.**


	2. Emotions in Overdrive

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Twilight Saga. I already said that in the first chapter.

**Author's Note:** (_December 20, 2012_) Done writing Chapter Two, the continuation to the first chapter. This chapter is a must-read before you choose one of the two different endings.

**~Chapter Two~**

Silence. The sound of our home in the middle of the day. I was thankful for the brief respite of one whole week from our usual routine of nightly sessions, but I knew this was just because of my monthly visit. Seemingly, my husband knew of my monthly schedule. That probably explained why he videotaped our last session.

My body hasn't fully recovered from the soreness our last session gave me. It's been a week but I couldn't forget the unusual discomfort of my husband forcing himself inside my tight unused hole. To be honest, I was afraid of tonight's session, for I knew for certain, he'd use it again. The feeling of pain it brought forth was humiliating, for it also made me feel like defecating all over and the thought alone was too shameful to bear.

Shaking out my thoughts of my worries for tonight, I decided I'd enjoy the few hours before I'd be tied up once again down in the basement. Streaks of sunlight streaming in through the pale peach draperies tempted me to go out to the garden at the back of our house, urging my feet forward to the door leading out onto the veranda.

As I stepped out into the comforting shade of the apple tree right beside our house, my eyes tried following the different colors that flashed by my sight in gentle swishes. Amazed, I watched the different flowers sway in time with the mild breeze, and admired the way the blossoms reached high to get as much sunlight as they could on this lovely first day of March. On the other side of our backyard was our vegetable patch. Just as I thought of tending to it, I heard his car pull into the driveway and stop in front of the garage. Alarmed, I turned around and hurried to the front door, then hesitated as I remembered I shouldn't welcome him home.

Panicking, I paced before the main door and decided to just go back out into the garden and start collecting those ripe tomatoes that caught my eye a few minutes ago, but before I took one step back, I heard the kitchen door open and shut close. My whole body froze. I won't deny it; I was scared out of my wits whenever he was home. But why was he home so early? He was barely gone for five hours. I knew asking wouldn't exactly earn me an answer. Conversations just made him angrier.

My heart pounding against my chest in irregular beats, my feet glued to the floor, I waited, fear striking my body, a silent prayer crossing my mind that he wouldn't start right away with his torment today.

The surprise in his blue-gray eyes immediately met my fear-filled green ones, and for an eerie, still minute, we stood in silence, staring at each other, stuck in the marriage that was long dead and had become into nothing more but an act of pleasure for him.

"Well what do we have here?" My husband moved a step forward and I backed away with each other step he took forth. "Were you planning on greeting me?"

The hard surface meeting my back felt irrefutably alarming, my heart racing in wild erratic beats forced my body into the unyielding wall even further, my breath speeding up with the quick heaves of my chest, my voice already hitching to a pitch that had certain fear evidently manifested in it.

"Well?"

I knew he was waiting for an answer, but I didn't seem to even have the strength to shake my head in desperation. He sighed in exasperation and the wide smirk on his face made me lose all hope to have our session postponed until tonight.

"Get ready. You're coming with me to the hospital."

With that, he left for his room, and as I tried to steady my frantic heart, my feet moved of their own volition, my mind clearly steering them, knowing making my husband wait would just result in more torturous deeds. Though after all he's done, I wondered what could be more humiliating, painful and shameful that I haven't had the misfortune to experience under his meticulous doctor's hands.

Awaiting me in the kitchen, there he was, standing by the island counter in the middle of the room, sipping on what I could ascertain from by the strong smell of it, brandy. He didn't look up when I entered the kitchen, nor did he do so when he spoke in a quiet, polite voice, asking me to do something I felt too ashamed to do, under these circumstances.

"Bend over the counter, will you?"

With a quick swallow of my dry throat, I moved forward, braced my hands on the edge of the counter before stretching my arms out flat on it. I kept my face down in shame, and from the dread welling up within me at what he'd possibly need me in this position for.

I felt my skirt lift up and gather around at my waist, then my underwear pulled down in a swift tug down to my knees. My whole body shook as a hard smack on my ass crossed it. His hands roughly grabbed my legs to force them apart, surprising me with the harshness of this forceful action as I tried to keep my balance on these very high heels that he distinctly laid in front of my room to wear.

His fingers dug into the skin of my asscheeks, and I felt him spread them apart. Even after two weeks of doing these things that he never did before, like looking a little too closely for my liking at my privates, I couldn't stand the embarrassment rising up in my cheeks.

A short while passed, until finally, the moment I dreaded arrived.

Strange pain.

Yes, that was what I thought and all I felt. I despised the feeling of something inside that hole. Those beads were back inside me, but I could feel something coating it, like some sort of lubrication which made it slick and easier to slide.

The soft fabric of my skirt fell back down over my below-the-waist nakedness and I realized with mortification that he planned on bringing me to the hospital with those beads still within the tight hold of my sphincter.

Before I could take in all the scenarios of degradation today would bring, I felt myself being lifted onto the counter top, my thong carelessly brushed away from my legs and tossed across the room, my legs parted by his hands, my feet resting on the edge of the counter.

Surprise snapped me back to reality as – to what little knowledge I had about those sorts of materials – something called a dildo penetrated me. To my horror, my husband even added a small kind of ball against my clit, taped against the sensitive bundle of nerves, and I could feel my whole body trying to breathe and break free from all three.

"Get in the car."

Something that was as unpleasant as it was uncomfortable to do. Even the small steps that I took were a mighty struggle to accomplish. I had to make sure nothing fell out from under my skirt, my legs awkwardly pressed tightly together, the grating friction of my thighs irritating me in an undeniably unusual way.

Sitting was an entirely different sensation. It pushed in both the dildo and the beads deeper inside me and I had to bite my lip to keep myself from complaining about the discomfort I was feeling.

I kept my eyes on the road as my husband drove us to the hospital swiftly and smoothly. I've always loved the way he drove. With a certain penchant for speed, but also the extreme caution to ensure everyone's safety, my husband drove with speedy precision, never breaking any laws, and with the skillful hands to keep the car steady in a smooth, straight line, almost making anyone inside the car feel like they were merely floating on a still wave above deep waters.

The drive to the hospital wasn't that far, but it gave me enough time to take a peek at my husband's perfection. I had to take as many precious little minutes as I could to study and rememorize every single flawless detail on this man I married nine years ago.

His hands that could bring me into the helpless state of delirious passion, his deft fingers that could work on me like he would during surgery were so precise with their strokes, their caress, unfolding every secret within me until I'd completely surrender to him, offering up my total undoing to those nimble fingers…

_Ah!_

The vibrating sensation sent my whole body jumping, but I forced my legs closed to keep anything from falling out. My hands instinctively reached for the dashboard and I glanced over at my husband. Around his hand that wasn't on the wheel, was some sort of remote control, I was sure of it, for who else could've turned on the vibration of both the dildo and the ball on my clit?

I couldn't stop the wetness that formed within me when the dildo penetrated me minutes ago to stop from coating it fully. This frightened me. For one, I was worried I'd end up staining my skirt, and that wouldn't do since my husband's office was on the fourth floor of the hospital and we'd meet plenty of people all the way there. No one could possibly find out what was going on underneath my clothing!

"Ca-Carlisle… Please stop this… I-I'll…"

Utterly ignored, all I received was a more intense level of the vibration. Pursing my lips together and clutching onto the dashboard to keep my sanity as I was losing the tight hold of my legs together, I observed my husband from the corner of my tear-glazed eyes filled with dread, pleading him to stop the whirring between my legs.

My thighs were unnaturally grazing each other in desperate attempts to free myself of the unforgiving, pulsating vibrating, spurring forth my impending release, which I desperately tried to keep in, not wanting to succumb to his torture, not ready for people to see the stain of my skirt.

Just as a tiny yelp slipped past my lips, all the vibrations ceased. I looked up and noticed that we were parked and my husband was readily stepping out of the car.

With shaky legs, straining with difficulty to stand and keep those inside me, I forced myself up and out of my seat. Subtly checking for any stain on the reflection of my husband's shiny black Mercedes, I followed him inside the hospital he worked at.

It seemed that I didn't have to worry at all for being noticed by anyone. The hospital was eerily empty. All the way to the fourth floor, we were greeted only once, and that was by the head nurse stationed behind the counter on the ground floor.

My husband's office brought back so many memories. It's been years since I've been here, but every single detail I worked on it was still in their original place. Yes, I designed his office. And those times when he'd steal a kiss while I would be painting his office wall, those times when he'd take me against the door leading to the hallway, those times he'd lay me on top of his desk to quickly undress me just to have himself buried deep in me – those times, all those times, came flashing through my eyes the moment I stepped inside.

The scent of lavender reached my nostrils, and I was baffled he was still using the scented candles we'd light on each of our anniversaries. The lavender flower held an intimate, cherished memory for both of us. That flower was present in the two important times we met, and the flower to me, made sense of my feelings for him.

~o~

_"Esme, darling! Come over here, will you? Help your father tend to the garden!"_

_The young girl frowned and sighed from the branch up high in the tree she was perched on. She marked the page and closed the book she was reading and let it fall from the ten-foot drop from where she was sitting._

_"I'm coming, mom!"_

_The color of caramel from the little girl's locks meshed with the gentle breeze of Spring's lovely early evening, with bright green leaves swaying in the background from the vast branches of the trees in the front yard, and with the relaxing orange streaks of the sunset as their backdrop, young Esme found her way down from the branch, taking careful steps on the tree trunk until her feet found solid, steady ground._

_Picking up the book from before, she ran into the house, hurriedly placed the book on the first countertop she set eyes on, and continued on until she was at their backyard, where a man about fifty-five years old had his knees dug into the soil, his clothing and hands all dirty, his brow and forehead shining with a sheen of sweat._

_Esme's father had always loved tending to their garden, be it full of flowers or full of vegetables, or even fruits. Her mother, on the other hand, was never much of a green-thumb, but always loved cooking the ingredients that her husband brought in and Esme knew her mother loved and enjoyed watching her father tend to the garden. Esme's love for flowers, gardening, and pretty much all of nature, was greatly due to her father's influence and his love for them._

_"Daddy?" Esme stepped forward, readily crouching on the fertile earth beside her father._

_"I'm planting a new flower, Esme, my child," Esme's father explained, digging more of the fertile soil to fully plant the seed in properly._

_"What's it called, daddy?" the little girl asked with excitement._

_"Lavender," her father told her with a smile._

_"That's a beautiful name for what I presume is a beautiful flower. Do you have a picture of it for me to see?" Esme asked eagerly._

_"I'm afraid not, my darling. You'll have to wait until it blooms to the utmost beautiful it can be."_

_The aging man noticed the little frown on his daughter's face, and therefore said, "We'll plant it together, care for it together, water it together, and I'll be waiting alongside you until it fully grows, how about that?"_

_The cheeks of young Esme flared up like balloons, her smile widening while she nodded in joyous agreement to her father's suggestion. Esme's arms swung around her father's neck instantly, knocking the man onto his backside, his daughter receiving a kiss on her forehead._

_By the door leading out onto the veranda, Esme's mother took in the scene of her husband and their beautiful daughter who was growing so quickly, while they were aging along with her. They knew they didn't have much time left with Esme. They had her at such a late time in their marriage, at such a late age in life, so they cherished every single moment like these for eternity._

_That Lavender flower grew to its fullest about two years later and just as the then thirteen-year old Esme called for her father to look and see, her father's heart weakened to a state of paralysis, which prompted his wife and daughter to rush him to the nearest emergency room…_

_As Esme's young wearied body struggled to stay awake beside her father's motionless form, the doctor entered the room followed by two female nurses. He spoke briefly to Esme's mother whose exhaustion was visible in the dark shadows underneath her eyes, and sent off both Esme and her mother home with a male nurse driving them. The doctor promised he'd send word once Esme's father would wake from his coma._

_Esme forced herself to stay awake a little longer to take care of her mother and put her into bed until she collapsed onto her own to finally fill her need of sleep after several nights of staying up with her mother, changing turns to watch over the head of the family, faithfully awaiting his awakening. But after five days, the good doctor made them go home and rest, something they both weren't too keen about, but the doctor did say he'd personally check up on the patriarch every hour._

_Weeks, it felt like weeks until Esme awoke from her slumber. But it's only been a little over twenty-four hours when she arose from her bed. Her mother was still in her room, but if she was sleeping, Esme did not know._

_The young girl dragged her tired feet out to the garden, and her weak knees dropped down right in front of the lavender flower her father and her planted together a little over two years back…_

_"Daddy, please wake up soon…"_

_With a few droplets of her tears that she couldn't contain, Esme composed herself and started digging out the fully grown flower to transfer it into a pot to bring to her father's bedside in the hospital._

_Just as soon as the flower was snugly fitted inside the pot with abundant soil around it, the doorbell rang. With the pot in her hands, Esme walked to the door and opened it and a young blonde man no older than twenty came into view._

_"You must be Esme. Is your mother awake?" the young man spoke._

_"I'm afraid not. May I know who you are?" Esme responded._

_"Ah, I apologize for not introducing myself first. I'm Carlisle Cullen, the son of the doctor who's in charge of your father. My father called your house several times this morning and when no one picked up, he got a little worried and sent me over. I have news about your father."_

_"What is it? What's wrong?" The desperate anxiety of the young girl seemed to surprise the young man, who just relaxed and smiled at the young teenager in front of him._

_"Nothing's wrong, there's no need to worry. Your father woke up a few hours ago."_

_The crash of the breakable pot seemed to reverberate throughout the house as Esme's body flung forward with her arms outstretched to the young man, her hands finding his back as she clutched onto his shirt, her tears soaking the soft blue cotton in front, her chest heaving with heavy sobs with the relief she hasn't felt for what seemed like ages to her._

_The shock in the young man's face was clearly visible, and his hands were lifted up in reflex, also to make sure nothing would look inappropriate in someone else's eyes if there was a neighbor who was to witness this innocent act of a happy young lady, flooded with relief at the news of her father's bettering condition._

_For a few minutes, the young man stood still and tried soothing the young girl with small pats on her head before his hand started stroking her caramel locks on its own._

_"Esme… Are you alright now?" he then asked and the young lady looked up, embarrassment flooding her cheeks, tainting them in a deep pink shade._

_"I-I'm so sorry! That was inappropriate of me!"_

_The girl instantly removed herself from the warmth of the young man's body, but as she took a step backward, Esme flinched in pain. They both looked down and saw a few drops of blood dripping from the sole of her right foot._

_"Hmm, let's get that cleaned up, shall we?"_

_Ready to limp to the sofa in the living room, Esme was surprised as she was swept off the floor and lifted into the young blonde's arms. He closed the front door shut and settled her down onto the couch. Esme watched as he took out a first aid kit he seemingly had hooked onto his belt at the back of his pants, watched how he took out a small piece of shattered pot from the sole of her foot, observed the seriousness on his face as he disinfected her wound, mesmerized by his gentle touch and entranced by his kind voice when he said, "I'm afraid I ran out of band aids, so I'll wrap this part of your foot with bandages, for now. I'll give you a band aid back at the hospital."_

_Esme knew they had band aids in the cabinet in their bathroom, but to feel the young man's touch on her skin again was more powerful than the desire to have an itchy band aid that'll fall off way too soon anyway._

_"Do you plan on becoming a doctor too, like your father?" Esme asked shyly as he wrapped her foot and pinned it in place with a little safety pin._

_"I do. How am I doing so far?" he then asked with the brightest smile Esme had seen her entire life._

_"You're doing amazingly well…"_

_"Well, my medical training is going better than I thought then," Carlisle mused with laughter in his voice and in the happy gleam in his eyes._

_"Shall we rouse your mother to tell her the news? I bet she would want to come to the hospital as soon as your father is awake, and I'm here to drive you both there and drive you back home with your father when he'll be released, which most probably will be tonight, after his six-hour observation is done."_

_"I'll go call my mother. You can wait for us out by your car. Thank you so much for tending to my wound. We'll be right out."_

_As the young lady left to wake her mother, the young student of medicine walked back to the front door, then halted in his tracks as he noted the broken flower pot._

_'Lavender? She must've wanted to give this to her father… I better clean it up for her,' he thought to himself._

_He found the empty flower pots out by the veranda and carefully transferred the flower with the soil in a new one and gave it a little water before heading out the front door, placing the flower pot on the passenger seat, as he waited for the two Platt women to emerge from the house._

_In less than half an hour, the three of them were parked in front of the hospital, Esme's mother already rushing inside as Carlisle held out the pot to Esme. "I figured you wanted to bring this to your father, so I changed the pot for you."_

_"Oh, thank you very much. And yes, I did plan on giving this to him…" Esme spoke slowly, thinking back on how she had dropped the pot in such suddenness to embrace a stranger who stood by their front door, giving her the pleasant news of her father's wakening._

_"Well, that flower is very appropriate under these circumstances," Carlisle told her, snapping her out of her thoughts._

_"How so?" Esme asked._

_"It's one of the flowers that have healing properties."_

_That made the astonished Esme smile. 'Yes, it's quite appropriate indeed…' she agreed inwardly. 'You healed me today with your words and your touch. My father's healed under your father's care. Yes, very much appropriate indeed… For everything about you seems so healing…'_

_That very moment, Esme could feel a certain pull drawing her closer to this young man seven years her senior, but she knew it wasn't a possible match, not unless he waited for her until she turned eighteen for them to be together, which she knew he would never do, for someone with such good looks as he had and the gentle personality he possessed, he'd have a lady by his side very soon, if he didn't have one already._

_Esme swallowed in despair. "Thank you again, Carlisle."_

_"You're most welcome, Esme. Shall we?" He then offered his hand, which Esme happily took, though she knew this touch was nothing more but an offering of friendliness, not knowing that to the young man, the touch of her hand meant something much, much more. "Yes, we shall…"_

_Esme never saw Carlisle again after that night when he brought them back home. His medical studies brought him to faraway places, but she never forgot that day she met Carlisle Cullen, "the healer of wounds," as she liked to call him in her daydreams. To her, he was the healer of all her wounds._

_The second time her father had a stroke was when she finally got to see him again. This time, it was no longer his father who treated her father. It was him. And the day they met again, lavender played a specific role…_

_It's been seven years, and Esme had grown into a fine young woman at the age of twenty, while the twenty-seven year old Carlisle now became the next Dr. Cullen._

_Esme wasn't around when her father was delivered to the hospital, but her mother had been there. And when Esme found out the doctor wasn't by her father's side when she arrived in his room, she was furious. She demanded to know the office of the doctor responsible for treating her father, who was very much well already by the time she arrived, and as she stalked inside the doctor's office, she was immediately greeted with the scent of lavender. Three lit candles rested atop the mahogany desk, emitting the soft scent of the flower, and somehow, Esme knew, she was in the office of that same young man she fell in love with at the age of thirteen. And as she turned around to the footsteps nearing the room, there he was, standing in the middle of the open door, and in an instant, her mind conjured up the vision of him in front of the thirteen-year-old version of herself._

_Esme's heart leapt in joy and it was all she could do to rein herself in from flinging her whole self onto him again, like she did seven years before._

_"Carlisle…"_

_"It's Doctor Cullen now, I'm afraid," he laughingly pointed out, which immediately brought out a smile from her. "Esme, how glad I am to see you again, though I'm sorry it had to be under such circumstances."_

_Esme realized he meant meeting again because her father had a stroke for a second time. "But he's all better now, isn't he?" Esme asked._

_"Yes, he is. So I'm wondering, why is the daughter of the patient in my office? I heard she was furious when she found out the doctor responsible for treating her already-treated father wasn't in the room." He was using such a playful tone in his voice that Esme couldn't stop feeling like a child being lightly chided by an understanding parent._

_"I'm sorry; I was just out of sorts. I came rushing from my college, and I – I just felt enraged when no one was looking after my father, not even a single nurse in sight, when this is the second time he had a stroke," Esme tried explaining, but then drifted off as she noticed the young doctor had moved close to her, his face inches from hers._

_"Esme…" His finger tipped her chin up lightly and she was immediately and helplessly caught in his enchanting gaze. "I can't believe you're right here, right in front of me again."_

_Esme's heartbeat sped up and her thoughts ran wildly before her eyes shut in anticipation for the kiss she knew would come. All the romance novels she read led her to believe this was about to happen. Real life though, it seemed, was very different from the fantasies her books showed her._

_"For a minute there I was worried you'd throw yourself at me again like you did seven years ago."_

_It seemed like her reality turned from romance to a humor novel. With the teasing remark, Esme's eyes fluttered open and she turned around sharply, but her wrist was caught back by the gentle smoothness of his hand._

_"I'm sorry; I just couldn't stand not saying it. To tell you the truth, I was hoping you would do it again…"_

_There was a certain longing in his voice that made Esme turn around, and the small smile he gave her immediately weakened all her senses to be mad at him as she finally, to his and her delight, threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against the depth of the base of the column of his throat, while she felt his face buried in her hair, his hands pulling her tightly in an embrace._

_As their bodies broke away slightly, Carlisle's hand rested on Esme's cheek, caressing the warmth of her skin, before sliding in her hair, his fingers brushing the soft tendrils until his hand cupped the back of her head, tilted up her gaze for him to see her full, luscious, painted red lips._

_"Kiss me, Carlisle…"_

_The tempting invitation was all Carlisle could stand. Claiming each other's lips in both a gentle force and a forceful gentleness was something they both realized they needed._

_"My God, I waited seven years for this," Carlisle breathed out against Esme's lips._

_"Then don't stop now, Dr. Cullen…" Esme's use of his title urged the doctor to keep on showering her lips with open-mouthed kisses, but never penetrating or invading the juicy cavern with his tongue._

_Only when she fully opened her mouth, an obvious invitation for more, did Carlisle slip his tongue past her lips to fully explore and taste her._

_When they both needed to catch their breaths, Carlisle leaned his forehead against hers, breathing in what she breathed out. The satisfied smiles on their faces both brightened the room, and Carlisle reached for something behind his desk, while Esme was still trapped in his embrace._

_"When I realized I was treating the man whose daughter I had admired and adored, I went out to buy this," he said quietly, handing Esme a bouquet of lavender, the scent strongly adding to the lavender-scented candles._

_"What for?" Esme asked, as she brought up the bouquet to take a closer whiff of the soothing aroma._

_"For you to remember me," Carlisle explained._

_Esme looked up at him in surprise. "There is no way I could have forgotten about you, Carlisle."_

_"How so?" the doctor asked, clearly pleased with her confession._

_"You are the healer of all my wounds."_

_And once more, Esme was swept off her feet and kissed repeatedly until a knock on the doctor's door made them jump and laugh at their obvious obsession with each other._

_Two years later, when Esme graduated from her architectural degree, to celebrate the end of her studies, Carlisle had brought her to a lavender farm, where they strolled under the warm heat of the sun, with the pleasant summer breeze moving past their faces, and the smell of lavender engulfing them exclusively in the beautiful violet-blue hue of its blossoms._

_Under a willow tree, its shade a lovely welcome to escape the sun's rays, overlooking the field of pure lavender was where Carlisle got down on one knee and proposed to the young woman with an engagement ring the same color as the field. Esme's birthstone, the amethyst, shone brightly under the sun's sparkle, its iridescent violet hue belonging to the field of purple color. Even Esme herself was a mesmeric addition in her white flowing dress with its lavender flowery design that Carlisle gifted her to wear that very same day._

_It was an unforgettable moment when she said yes and when he slid the ring onto her finger, planting a kiss atop it as it snuggled fit into place._

~o~

I was snapped back to reality as the door of my husband's office shut close. How ironic was it that now he was the harbinger of all my wounds…? My heart broke at the realization that he planned on desecrating every room we held dear to our hearts by mistreating me in all of them.

My feet planted to the floor, I watched my husband cross the room and take his seat down on the soft leather chair behind his desk. The intense scrutiny of his gaze sent a slight shudder down my spine and my eyes immediately turned from his, focusing on someplace else other than those intimidating blue-gray orbs.

"Now, now, won't you look at me?" His voice was so alarmingly gentle; I couldn't stop feeling an ominous threat chilling the air of the lavender-scented room.

With the flick of his finger against the switch on the remote control, the vibrations resumed their torture. Aghast, I stared at him pleadingly, my knees bending, my hands desperately tugging on the fabric across my thighs.

"Please don't make me shame myself here…" But of course, he'd never listen to my plea. "Ca-Carlisle, please…" I felt myself stagger forward, my hands gripping the edge of his desk. "Stop it, please…"

The vibrations only increased in speed, the rubbing sensation inside me sending my senses into overdrive, my walls tightening its hold around the slick, wet dildo, the ball unbearably vibrating in such dizzying haste across my swollen clit. My legs were giving out under me and I cursed inwardly, the tears of my shame starting to form in my eyes, my nails digging into the glorious, sleek wood of his desk.

With a loud cry escaping my lips and the silent thud of the dildo hitting the floor, my trembling knees finally sank and collapsed right alongside it.

I heard my husband move about, but I didn't look up to gauge his reaction. I couldn't. I was preoccupied, appalled at the fact that I reached the height of my pleasure from just a mere toy inserted into me. The shaming added factor was that this was a public place, our home being the only place I ever considered private. Add to that the fact that I was still shamelessly dripping all over my husband's office floor.

"Feeling a little relieved now?" My husband's voice tinged with a hint of pleasure seeing me shame myself out here angered me. When I didn't answer him, I was pulled back forcefully, my hair helplessly caught in his tight grasp.

The only comfort to cushion my fall was the plump cheeks of my butt while my hands hit the floor behind me. Unremittingly tugging on my hair until my wobbly legs stood their ground, I was forced up on my feet and bent over his desk.

"Do you remember the times I **_fucked_** you on this desk?" my husband whispered into my ear. A pang of sadness hit me as those memories came back to me not as something as undignified as he called it, but something much more intimate, much more loving, something called making love instead of… of fucking.

The fabric of my skirt once again gathered around my waist and his nimble fingers worked on the buttons of my blouse, tearing my top off my torso in one swift yank then pushing my brassiere up over my breasts, finding my nipples pushed back against the smooth mahogany wood.

The sudden push of the beads inside my ass jolted my body in shock and as the thrashing of my legs began and my protests leaving my lips, his hand came around to close over my mouth. Instinctively, I bit down hard, only to have myself rewarded with a slap across my face and a smack across my ass. I pursed my lips behind the hand clasping my mouth shut, helpless. I knew it was hopeless to fight him.

In and out. I was being fucked in the ass, the anal beads violating me. With one swift pull, the beads left me with a feeling of emptiness, a hole that was visibly penetrated, stretched wide open. I couldn't bear the thought of seeing it myself and I was glad I couldn't, not in this position, but the degrading feeling reverberating through my skin was the intent gaze of my husband. How could he just stand to look at it?

Two of his fingers entered me without warning, and I was mortified that both could easily slide in. I heard him spit and I could feel the slick, wet, warm liquid being pushed inside me with his fingers. And just as he withdrew it, I felt another strange sensation, a warm, slithering feeling entering, forcing itself between the tightness of my hole. Disgusted, revolted, sickened, I tried turning my head to ascertain this was really happening. His tongue! My husband's tongue, penetrating, licking the one place where all I felt was shame of!

_Stop it! This is disgraceful!_

To add to my shock, I could hear the pleasure moans he was emitting. I couldn't take the humiliation that someone was enjoying the taste of that – that horrendously repulsive place!

I felt his forefinger replace his tongue, while his middle finger broke past my dripping entrance, finding its way inside my pussy, and I knew he was rebuilding another swell of orgasm within me.

All at once, I felt nothing. Not his hands, not the burning touch of his skin, not his body close to mine. I straightened my upper body a little and scanned the room for his presence. Right in front of me was where he stood, about to take his place back on the leather cushioned seat. In his hands, he had the dildo and the anal beads which he firmly planted atop the desk and to my curious astonishment; they stayed stuck against the wood. But then the way they were positioned in such a precise angle made me realize what he was about to make me do.

_No! He wouldn't! Would he really make me…?_

I assumed the expression on my face informed him that I was aware of what he intended me to do. A slight smirk tugged on the corner of his lips and I knew I couldn't disobey his following order, nor could I play dumb.

"Get on with it, my dear," he whispered in a quiet, urging, domineering voice.

Taking a deep breath, I climbed atop his desk, shutting my eyes in shame as I lined both my pussy and my ass to the toys, before sliding down on them. A silent hiss made its way past my clenched teeth and my whole body stilled with both of the materials inside me.

On my knees, my arms limp on my sides, both the dildo and the beads penetrated me with each back and forth motion I rubbed myself with against them. My husband just sat there, pleased, watching me pleasure myself in this demeaning manner. I kept my eyes shut, not believing this insulting demand from him for him to enjoy. Only the sound of his belt buckle made me snap my eyes back into awareness.

He was absolutely gorgeous, his thick, hard cock so erect in front of me, springing out from the tight confines of his slacks, emerging up from between the zipper. I watched him grab himself, rubbing himself in measured up and down strokes, the tip of his cock already lubricated with his delicious precum. The sight of him jacking off to my shameful actions embarrassed me even further.

"Faster," he commanded and I forced myself to keep up with his expectations.

There I was, my skirt on my waist, my brassiere resting atop my breasts, my pussy and ass filled with toys, my clit still covered with the vibrating ball taped upon it. And there he was, watching me, enjoying the show, stroking his hard self shamelessly with such vigor.

_Knock, knock._

"Dr. Cullen?"

My body immediately froze in place and panic set in. My husband though, was calm and his voice showed no panic nor did any of his following actions seem agitated.

He held out his hand to me and I stepped down from his desk with his help. The materials on his desk were casually set aside in one of his drawers as he pushed me down below his desk, his answer to the knock on the door clear and authoritative, "Come in."

Frightened that I left any evidence in front of his desk that would give away our session to the person walking into the room, I waited and listened, the beating of my heart so loud in my ears. I was glad that at least the scent of lavender from the candles masked the strong odor of sexual activities that I could easily smell from where I was kneeling.

"Doctor Cullen, these are the updated reports on…"

I could make out from the depth of the voice that it was another male doctor who was inside the room, though someone much younger than my husband. The man, to my dismay, sat on one of the plush seats in front of my husband's desk and I was a little anxious their conversation would take some time.

I tried to keep my mouth shut, calming my own heart, slowing down my breathing, to stay very still and wait for the other doctor to leave, but all was made impossible as my husband suddenly grabbed the back of my head and forced his cock between my lips until it hit the back of my throat. I couldn't stop from gagging silently as he released his hold on my head, and I withdrew myself from his engorged cock. Was he expecting me to do this while another person was in the room?

The answer was obvious as his hands found my breasts, fondling them in his palms, before the hardened peaks of my nipples screamed for mercy at the unexpected pinch of nipple clamps. Biting on my lip down hard, unintentionally drawing blood out, I held in the piercing shriek of pain wanting to burst out from within me.

These nipple clamps were different. They had a chain attached to them, which my husband tugged on lightly, pulling my body forward, my lips close to his cock eager to be taken in by my mouth.

Reluctantly, my lips parted and drew the tip of his cock into the wetness of my mouth. Bobbing my head up and down my husband's delectable shaft, I prayed to God that the other doctor wouldn't be aware of what was going on beneath this mahogany desk.

My head was doing every movement on its own, my whole body already feeling slightly shaky and exhausted, and my eyes were threatening to close. I couldn't take more of this. But then, the last remark of the doctor who was now by the door, caught my attention and reawakened my senses.

"By the way, Dr. Cullen, I'm sorry if I interrupted a seemingly fun session. Have a nice day."

I looked up at my husband in alarm but saw nothing but a winning little smirk of playful delight. "Not at all, Dr. Carter, and thank you; have a nice day as well."

Did I make any noises at all? Was he able to guess what was going on from the smell that maybe wasn't entirely masked by the lavender scent?

I was pulled up and out from under the desk by my husband's strong hold on my arms and I noticed the one thing that was a crystal clear hint to what was going on in this room. My blouse that was strewn across the floor and another thing… The clear liquid of my ecstasy that my husband coaxed out of me with the stirring vibrations in my pussy and on my clit was still there, though dried up on the floor, still visible and the stench of my shame undeniably wafted from it.

Before I could express my mortification, my husband pulled me into the bathroom on the left side of his office. There, in the middle of the shiny, white tiles, was an upholstered, comfortable-looking seat on which he plumped down on, his harsh grab on me pulling my body to him, both his hands resting on my waist as he positioned himself, lining himself up to…

Without warning, I felt him deep in my ass and I clamped my mouth shut with my own hand from screaming at the abrupt penetration. He angrily removed my hand and pinned it down with his own on the armchair, doing the same to my other hand. His thrusts up my ass were quick and pushing so deep inside, I tried with difficulty to keep my moans and screams by biting down on my lip, which didn't work as I kept drawing out blood from the sore skin.

"Let them hear it. Scream. Tell everyone in this building you're being fucked in the ass right now," my husband "_encouraged_."

To make things worse, inside the bathroom, all the noises I made were echoing resonantly and I feared everyone in the hospital would find out I had no decency in manners. I felt like a horny slut wanting to fuck in public for everyone to take note of. I hated how my husband made me feel this way. It was degrading. I hated how he made me debase myself for his egotistical pleasures.

"Tell them you even like seeing yourself being fucked in the ass," he added and my head jerked up at my incomprehension. My eyes widened at the reflection staring back at me. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Such a humiliating position I was in! For him to violate me _there _in all the ways he did was bad enough, but to actually see myself getting my ass filled with his thick meat was too much! Too much!

I couldn't stand the sight and I prayed for it to be over. But I knew he wouldn't let me get off without watching until the end. His hands left mine but I couldn't let go of my hold from the armchair, something I clutched onto for dear life, for forgiveness from the utter shame I've been through in one single day.

The light tug on the chains of my nipple clamps forced my eyes open and once again, I saw in the mirror: a woman, whose breasts were bouncing up and down, her nipples pinched in pain and pleasure, her ass filled with a hard cock, her red lips parted in pleasure, sounds of both discomfort and lust escaping her lips, her pussy parted by a man's fingers, the redness of the slick cavern shining with inescapable juices, her clit being slapped by his other hand.

It was like watching someone else in my place, my mind far away from reality. I watched how the woman spilled her shame all over the man's fingers as her ass was being pumped into by the man's huge cock, the seeds of his climax filling the tight hole, her body shuddering with satisfaction, her face contorted in pleasurable pain. Who was this woman? Who was she…?

It was me. It was me. I tried to deny myself of this truth as I pulled my clothes back over my sore body. It was time for my husband to leave the hospital and he told me to go ahead and await him downstairs. I was waiting in the lobby, where the head nurse was the only person in sight to talk to. Not really up for a conversation, for fear that she might've heard what was going on three floors above, though I knew it was not in any way possible, I sat by the waiting area, wanting nothing more but to go home and hide myself from the world.

"Ah, you must be Dr. Cullen's wife, aren't you?"

Looking up, I was met with a bright smile on a young pale-faced man, and the sound of his voice sounded disconcertingly familiar. Trying to keep my blush from creeping up my cheeks as I realized he was the doctor who came in my husband's office earlier, I smiled politely and nodded my head in silence.

"So, had a little fun today, didn't you?" he asked me, and I was aghast that this young doctor planned on discussing something as private as that so openly out here in the lobby, though no one was actually around to hear it. It was rude and I wasn't exactly sure how he managed to become a doctor with such an improper, frank openness to him.

His finger traced my cheek before sliding down to my chin, tipping it up lightly for me to meet the eerie brown depth to his eyes.

"Well, if you were my wife, I'd have brought you to my office as well and would've fuc–"

"Dr. Carter." The biting coldness to my husband's voice sent me straight to my feet and I was agitatedly looking outside the hospital to avoid his angry gaze.

"Ah, Dr. Cullen, I don't think it's appropriate for a husband to keep his wife waiting, now, do you?" the young man, this Doctor Carter, said amusingly.

Before my husband could answer, the young man strolled down the hallway, whistling away. Finally meeting my husband's eyes, I regretted it the moment his glare chilled my insides. Hurriedly, I rushed to the car and felt something terrible was going to happen. I knew my intuition was right as my husband uncharacteristically drove home recklessly, passing the speed limit, the anger in his eyes ablaze, his jaw twitching with apparent fury, his hands tight around the wheel, his knuckles turning into a pale white color.

I entered the kitchen in haste, and began preparing dinner, but I was pulled back from my chores and was dragged down to the basement, where I was immediately tied to the chair, the rope around my belly, my hands enslaved in cuffs, the gap of my handcuffs resting on the hook at the end of the chain hanging above me, my arms outstretched, my mouth gagged with a plain white cloth.

I was stripped bare of all my clothing and the next thing my mind registered was the sharp blade of the knife penetrating my skin, the stinging sensation evoking a jarring, high-pitched screech blocked by my gag.

I could taste the blood, smell it, see it, as twelve strokes of the blade marked me. It was quick, but the stinging ache during the aftermath all came forth at once in blinding, agonizing waves of extreme, intense pain.

There, across my bare thighs, blood trickling down to the floor, I was marked as his. Twelve strokes of the blade, twelve bleeding lines making up the word 'MINE.'

I couldn't get over the realization that my husband thought I was flirting with the other doctor in the lobby.

Kneeling in front of me, my husband licked away on the blood, coated his fingers with it, admired it in the dim light of the basement, removed my gag, smeared the blood across my lips then stood up, his fingers pulling down my jaw, his spit mixing with the blood inside my mouth together with the salty taste of my tears that were all forced down my throat in a reluctant swallow as his tongue forced itself past my lips.

"You are **_mine_**. Don't forget that, you filthy slut."

~o~

**Author's Note: That was the continuation to Chapter One. For the ending, you may choose either Chapter Three, the "sort of happy" ending or Chapter Four, the "angsty" ending.**

**Please leave me some love and review, will ya?**

**~Aoi.**


	3. Good Ending: Forgiveness and Acceptance

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Twilight Saga. Seriously, how many times do I need to tell you this?

**Author's Note:** (_December 28, 2012_) This is the "sort of happy" ending to Carlisle and Esme's relationship.

**~Chapter Three~**

So precise with the blade, so unbelievably quick in marking me with twelve lines. My mind kept wandering back to last night's new pain. Fingers tracing the aching letters across my thighs, I watched the blood trickle down the sides of my skin, the vivid red liquid painting the pale white of its canvass.

It bled open so easily. One single touch, the lightest of pressure, even the gentle kiss he'd plant upon it… only to satiate his insane bloodlust. I couldn't comprehend the complexity of his thirst for the metallic taste of my blood on his tongue, nor did I understand the unreasonable urge for him to have me swallow it as well. I couldn't understand him. I had no idea myself what compelled him to become this way…

Every part of my soul died with each pain he'd inflict upon me, for I knew that there was something he couldn't divulge to anyone, not even to me, that would make sense to all he was doing, if only I knew of this undisclosed truth he kept within him.

In slow motion as my mind replayed, I sensed the sharp blade of the penetrating knife meeting the soft, tender flesh of my skin, sending a shudder down my spine. I could feel the meticulous precision of his quick cut done in an agonizingly, punishing, leisurely manner, watching myself through my own eyes, observing and noting the anger emanating from my husband's chest with each slash he drew across my thighs.

The blood, as red as the blazing fire of fury in his eyes, the blood, my blood, flowing, dripping endlessly as a river steadily coursing downward, fulfilling the need of my husband to see punishment upon my body.

His tears, forced back, never free to flow, screaming for freedom, wanting permission to finally break free from his pride, crying for me. What was it about my husband's unshed tears that called for me?

The inundation of my own tears, streaming ceaselessly down my cheeks, begged me to be released from the pain leading them to fall every single night. But what this pain was, I was left in the shadows to never figure out. Our relationship died years ago, but why? What brought about this massive change in my husband that led us to live this messed up reality?

My mouth wide open by his bloodied fingers pulling down my jaw, the blood, my saliva, my tears, mixed with his spit, all forced down my throat as his tongue slipped past my lips.

I swallowed at the memory and pushed myself back to my daytime reality. Staring into the mirror, a smile trying to plaster itself on my mouth, I watched myself urging my reflection to show happiness on my abused face, my lips forming, repeatedly whispering the words _'everything will be alright, everything will turn out alright…'_

But all my reflection did was cry. It was all empty words, a hopeless ray of hope my delusional self blindly and desperately clung on to.

And it was right, for the blood on my thighs were not enough to store away his anger. More, he needed more. And if he needed it, so be it. I would be everything he needed me to be.

I knew though, deep down, I couldn't be that person my entire life.

~o~

I couldn't take this any longer. It's been nearly four months since all this began. I could no longer handle the bruises every night, every scar clearly visible on my pale skin, every wound reopening as he loved to hit me to see it bleed open once more.

As I sat in front of my vanity mirror, I watched my tears paint my cheeks, red and swollen from his repeated slaps across my face, and as my hand reached up to test their ache, I couldn't help wincing at the slightest touch.

The pain of my body kept me awake and I barely slept for the past three nights. The comfort of my bed wasn't even inviting, it was threatening to scrape against my wounds, my bruises, the soreness of my skin, the throbbing ache in the depth of my cuts.

Slowly grazing my finger across the letters he cut into my thighs, I clenched my teeth at the dull pain that resurfaced and traced the letters M, I, N and E and remembered the night he did them… He seemed to really love me…

Instinctively, I reached up and felt a slap across my face, hard. _'What the hell are you thinking, Esme, he doesn't love you. Stop trying to convince yourself he's doing this because he loves you.'_

Another set of tears threatened to spill from my eyes and I knew my inner voice was right. Although I knew that truth, I forced myself back into my life of denial where I knew my husband loved me hence all the punishment he was giving me was all out of love.

I love him. I love him. I love him. I repeated this to myself every single day, every time he tied me up, with every new pain and new shame he introduced me to, I love him.

Lightly dabbing on my tears with the bloodstained cloth sitting in front of me on the table, I listened to the sound of our empty home. It was past midnight, my husband didn't come home for dinner for he was held back at work, called in for an emergency surgery. I had the whole day to think about this decision that I now planned to carry out.

With agonizing effort, I forced myself up from my seat and tried smiling at my reflection in the mirror but all I received were more tears. I wasn't sure at all of what I was doing as I walked down to the basement, took the rope in my hands and started knotting it, fashioning it into what became a makeshift noose, before attaching it to the hook at the end of the chain hanging from the ceiling. The cold air of the confining room sent shudders down my spine and a chill run through my bones. The familiar smell of sex mixed with the unmistakable, recognizable scent of dried blood hung in the air and all of a sudden, all the nightmarish memories that occurred down here flashed before my eyes. I shut them tightly to keep them out of my mind.

_'Soon, it'll all be over soon, Esme…'_

Just as I stepped onto the chair, a harsh, cold voice stopped me in my tracks.

"What the **_fuck_** do you think you're **_fucking_** doing?"

Before I could turn around to the sound of his voice, I felt myself being dragged by my hair, then thrown against the wall, his hard, virile body trapping mine, his hand tightening around my neck while the other pushed my legs apart and in no less than a second, two fingers had entered me swiftly, stroking inside me in harsh, vicious, quick and unrelenting, painfully deep ministrations and I knew I had no escape from the punishment I was about to receive. For even thinking of killing myself, I knew I'd be punished more than ever in the impending unforgiving session.

"Plan on killing yourself, **_huh_**?!" The menace and spite in his voice spat at me in the form of a hundred knives slashing against the throbbing fear in my chest.

"I'm not going to let you do that. You really think you could've done it?! Well, think again, you bitch."

With that, his fingers left me and they grazed across my lips, wetting the plump swell of the bruise on my lower lip that grew from biting too much onto it while I endured the pain he was inflicting on me the other night.

"See how wet you are? You **_can't_** leave, we both know it. You **_don't_** want to."

His grip on my neck tightened as he slammed my head back against the hard stone surface. He could easily break my skull with just a little more pressure. My body's shrunken the past few days. I couldn't get myself to eat anything. The pain was that enormous that it was the only thing I could concentrate on, keeping me sane, keeping me alive. As odd as it may sound, it became my source of strength to live on.

But every source of strength weakens within time, and my resolve to keep on living because of my immense love for my husband, finally broke after the other night's session. I didn't want to leave him and live on somewhere else. So the only choice I had was to leave this world altogether.

I knew, as he pointed it out, that I couldn't really go through with it. I wouldn't have gone through with it, for no matter how devastated I was that this was the only way our marriage still survived, I couldn't get myself to leave. Never in the past nine years of our marriage did I ever feel the need or want to separate myself from him. I couldn't. Every single cell in my body clung onto him for dear life. He gave me my life. No, he was my life. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be alive.

Trying to gasp for air, my hands reached up to clutch onto his forearms, to struggle free from his grasp but the tight clutch of his hand around my neck stiffened and made the tunnel of my throat unquestionably impassable for the source of my breathing.

"Tell me, do you want to die?" he then asked and I could note no malice, no anger, no nothing in his tone. It just was a simple question with the grave need for an answer.

I could barely breathe and the tears forming in the corner of my eyes finally slid down so with all the might I could muster, I shook my head with intense effort. And with that, his hand and whole body left me standing against the wall, my knees shaking, my legs about to buckle from underneath me. As seconds ticked by, I surrendered to the weakness of my own emaciated body and dropped to my knees, my hands hitting the ground with the same painful force, ensuring another gash on both my knees and hands. I could already feel the aching wounds reopen.

My husband knelt down before me, his hand caressed my cheek carefully, and I lifted my eyes to meet his. His expression softened to pity and for a moment, as his lips moved close to mine, I prayed and yearned for his gentle kiss, the soft touch of his lips against mine, the warmth of them covering my cold, shivering ones. But it was all for nothing. I should stop deluding myself for a minute that I'd ever feel his loving touch ever again.

With the heartless, brutal tug of my hair, my mouth was agape from the force of my head being yanked back vehemently. How many strands of hair have I already lost from all these harsh jerks of my head…? I shut my eyes and prayed for a break from all this. I was so tired to the point of exhaustion that if I could fall asleep, I'd never want to wake again, no matter if my dreams were filled with these atrocious sessions.

"Put your tongue out," he directed, his voice imperious and authoritative.

Slowly pushing my tongue forth past my lips, I anticipated the incoming flow of blood…

My husband's teeth bit down on the tip of my tongue wrathfully, repeating his action over and over again until at last, a red liquid formed from it and he finally released me from his painful hold on my hair. The metallic taste of my own blood spread across my taste buds and I kept my mouth open to let it flow to the ground, not wanting to swallow it, though I knew I had no other choice as he lifted my head to meet his disdainful gaze, lust visibly mixed in it as his tongue grazed over the stain of blood falling from my tongue. He slid his own skillfully past my lips and just as easily, forced the red hot liquid down my throat.

My lips pursed together as his tongue left the cavern of my mouth and with one last lick, gathering up the last droplets, my husband collected the last amount of my blood in his own mouth then in one angry spit, coated my lips with it. His finger smeared the warm liquid across my lips and he looked at me like a maniacal artist admiring his masterpiece, full of pride and overwhelming ego.

"Mesmeric. Absolutely riveting."

Before I could comprehend his words, I felt the shackles that were behind me on the wall enslave my hands and my legs, and even I was amazed at how well I kept myself standing. My body was lightly leaning forward, for I could no longer keep my posture straight from the overexertion of such activities, my hands and legs apart, my naked body exposed to his lustful scrutiny.

The clack of his tongue caught my attention. He was no longer satisfied with his masterpiece, I could see that, and I knew he needed to see more of that red liquid on me for me to be truly beautiful in his eyes.

Crossing the room in long, brisk strides, my husband made his way to the long table on the far side of where I was trapped with no possible means of escape. I doubt I had the strength to even crawl away from him.

_Snap!_

The deafening sound of a stiff material's impact on the stone basement floor made me flinch. My tears' duty to fall unendingly never failed me. The difficult swallow in my throat, my frightened heart clenched in suffocating ache, my weakened body too battered and abused, my voice losing its courage, my soul shattering into a million pieces, were all aware of the punishment I was to receive. And no matter how many times he did it, I could never get used to the sharp, excruciating, stinging pain of the unforgiving whip across my skin.

With the whip coiled around his hand, he made his way toward me, halting in his steps a few feet from me. Raising his hand and releasing his hold on the whip, letting it fly, hitting the humidity of the air in its wake, then finally reaching the destination on the top of my breasts.

My head thrown back, my mouth gaping, no able sound leaving my lips, my body shaking with pitiful sobs, I endured it. Again. And again. Never-ending.

Until finally, the flesh on the tops of my breasts, too sore, too beaten, succumbing to the lashing, painfully parting, fresh blood fluidly flowing down past my nipples, earning a victorious grin from my husband.

He lovingly caressed my breasts in his palms, almost as if he was weighing them in his hands. Squeezing them tightly, pushing them to each other, his head lowered, the tip of his tongue grazing both my nipples, lapping at the trickling blood which he eagerly sucked on, drank, then with one last lick against the tips of my nipples and a vehement bite on each, he moved back and continued.

A long vertical slash across my stomach, two hits on his brand on me to see those letters bleed again, one blow on each of my shoulders, a diagonal whipping on my forearms and my lower legs. Never satisfying for him until all the ear-splitting, flesh-gaping lashes bled open. It was an entirely different situation watching a whipping and when it's you who's on the receiving end of the unforgiving blow.

It was all I could take from crying out in pain for our neighbors to hear. But I held it all in. For I knew he was hurting. That's why he needed to hurt me. Or was I just giving him an excuse for not being able to bear the thought of my husband simply being this cruel?

He wasn't. I knew he wasn't. My husband would never do anything like this if I didn't deserve it. I needed to be punished for something, and until I found out what, I'd never stop enduring the excruciating agony that was killing me both inside and out. I was going to die this way if this didn't end. The blood loss, the beatings, the bruises. Who knows if I was already bleeding internally?

He would know. My husband would. I knew under the capable hands of a doctor, I wouldn't be punished to the point that I couldn't heal on my own.

Free from the confining restraint of the ice-cold shackles binding me to the wall, I fell to my bruised knees, my husband's hand then slipping into my hair, his fingers wrapping around the caramel-colored strands, pulling me forward. And like an animal on all fours, with him designating my pathway, I followed until he sat himself down on the chair in the middle of the basement.

With my head hanging limply, my eyes caught sight of my husband unbuckling his belt and a small exhausted sigh touched my lips as my eyes fluttered close. The sudden choking feeling around my neck made my eyes fly open in petrified panic. The sharp pull on the belt around my neck jolted my head upward and I was met with his full, hard, pulsating cock which he slapped repeatedly against my cheek before it was forced inside my mouth.

Everything, every inch, up until its base, his sacs meeting my chin, forced into my mouth, to the back of my throat in one swift push of my head downward. With no warning, I felt my throat constrict, blocking the entrance, and the narrowing discomfort made me jerk my head back, releasing myself from the fullness of my mouth. Coughing to get rid of the gagging feeling, my saliva dripping onto the cold basement floor, my husband's hand found my cheek.

_Slap!_

My face fell to one side.

_Slap!_

And back to the other side. Subtly trying to hide my pained expression, suppressing another choking sob with renewed tears forming, I regained myself and engulfed his cock in one swift sweep into my mouth. _'You want me to gag? Then so be it…'_

For him, I'd do it. I'd do everything he wanted. Because I love him. I love him.

I knew it was pathetic to keep viewing him as someone caring, loving, someone only doing this with his own valid reasons. But I couldn't care less. No matter what he did, I couldn't stop this incomprehensible love for him that only grew stronger with each pain he'd give me.

This chocking sensation of having his thickness down my throat was something I could never get used to. But whenever I did encase him in wholly, his hand would caress my cheek softly, like he was rewarding me for being so pleasantly obedient, only to end up being slapped again if I couldn't take it fully inside.

Up and down, back and forth, my tongue running over the tip of his cock, my mouth so full of him, his taste filling the cavern of my mouth, his smell wafting up to my nostrils. His scent lingered on every inch of my body. My husband suddenly yanked my head back as he grabbed himself, leaning his cock away from me, giving me the sight of his sacs which clearly demanded attention from my mouth as well.

With a kiss upon his shaft, I lowered my lips and took one into my mouth, sucking, licking, massaging them in both my hands, and I could hear the fascinating sound of a pleasurable groan from him. Then once more, my head was pulled back, my mouth open and he had a desperate urge to once again spit into my mouth. With a quick swipe of my tongue across his spit, I swallowed and in a sudden, brash movement, my husband stood up and tossed my frail body toward the chair, my breasts landing on its seat, my knees scraping forward on the ground, my hands grabbing the backside of the wooden piece.

The unmistakable noise of the next punishment tool meeting his other hand in playful slaps reached my attentive ears. I could hear the air being whipped and the next thing that was hit was the bareness of my asscheek. The fiery fierce sensation of the riding crop marking my skin was a sharp, cruel sting that made even my eyes prickle with renewed tears.

He's marked every inch of my body. From the top of my head, my hair, my lips, my neck, my shoulders, my arms, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs, my legs, my butt, my back… My back had a slightly different punishment…

Branding. A few weeks back, I was branded with iron steel in the form of a letter C. Searing hot from the fire, the letter C standing for his name, sizzling on my skin, branding me his forever in this inerasable way, right in the middle of my back. I was his, and nothing could change that.

There was no way I could ever see the beauty of my natural skin this way. Purely covered in red whiplashes, bleeding cuts, black and blue bruises from his tight grips, I grieved over the fact that my husband could only appreciate my body when it's wrapped in these ugly lacerations and perfect imperfections.

_Ah!_

A slightly surprised gasp and half a moan found its way up my throat. I was stretched wide open, his cock passing through my wet entrance in one forceful, quick thrust, and the unbelievably slow withdrawal made me feel the incredible thickness of him, every ridge and every vein popping and pulsating, springing alive inside my pussy.

Pushing himself back in in the same slow manner, his deep, slow shove filling me to the brim, I could feel my inner walls tighten around his cock and the impossibility of him still growing overcame my senses. He was downright invading every inch of space, every nook inside me, and the growing build-up on the lower part of my stomach sent my mind reeling into anticipation. For a while, his unhurried thrusts made me forget the pain, but then…

Heat was the worst kind of pain for me; I had a very low tolerance for it, even though I was mostly the one in the kitchen, handling the cooking. My husband knew that very well. He used to treat my minor burns in the kitchen with an amusing, gentle smile playing on his lips, a low chuckle sometimes escaping the seriousness in his face, and I knew it was all because he found it extremely entertaining when I'd make a fuss and come running to him every time a pan or a ladle or anything else would burn me in the slightest.

He used this knowledge now to the extent of adding it to my torture as he loved to drop that sweltering, blistering wax onto my back. I couldn't stop myself from screaming and hissing at the scorching liquid. In return, my husband yanked my head back by pulling on the belt still around my neck, choking my throat, my wails of anguish being cut off, turning into desperate gasps for air.

The slowness of his thrusts immediately turned vicious and it didn't take long before he gave me his cum, fulfilling his other need to have his seed buried deep inside me. The belt slid to the ground, and my husband left the basement without another word.

Clinging onto the chair to keep my saneness, my sobbing echoing in the desolate shadows of the room, my tears still not having let up since the beginning of this session, I broke down, ready to burst into tiny shards of bleeding pieces of my heart.

Tears blinding me, sobs choking me, this relationship killing me.

~o~

Four months since this all started on our kitchen floor…

It's been three days since I was last tied up in the basement. I didn't question my husband's motive to give me a break. It wasn't even time for my monthly visit. But I just stayed locked up in my own room, coming out only to fix him his meals every morning and every evening. No words. An uncomfortable silence. A thick unspoken anger lingering in the air.

The grandfather clock out on the hallway ticked the seconds away as soon as it confirmed by the twelve chimes that it was midnight. I stared out the window from my room, into the vast darkness engulfing the sky. The tiny bright shines sparkling in the distance pervaded some glimmer of hope in me. Nighttime was full of noises outside from different creatures calling out to mate, but past midnight, the eerie still silence of our house and around it felt almost ominous.

"Esme…"

Startled, my head turned at the sound of my name. Was it possible? Was my husband calling me?

My husband's room was just across from mine, and the master bedroom was located at the end of the hallway. It's been years since we used that room, years since we laid there, slept side by side on that bed, on our bed. One day, my husband and I just upped and sought refuge in our own rooms and I couldn't remember the reason for the slight need to be apart.

I opened my door and peeked out, noticing his door was slightly ajar. Tiptoeing across the hall and halting inches from his door, my eyes peering into the dimly lit room. The scent of lavender hit my olfactory senses and suddenly, I was watching an extremely odd and disturbing scene unfold before my very eyes.

My husband, half-naked, kneeling in front of a low coffee table, lavender-scented candles on the four corners, and a picture of someone taking the space on the flat wooden surface.

Another whisper of my name made my breath hitch. It's been such a long time since my husband called out my name.

Before I could decide to step in and answer to his call, a whip slashed across his back and the trickle of blood forming from his self-inflicted whiplashes blocked out all my senses, my tears quick to form in my eyes.

_Carlisle! Carlisle, what are you doing!_

I couldn't speak up, my voice gone, my throat and tongue robbed off the ability of speech.

_Stop it! Stop it!_

"Esme… Esme… I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

My feet that I dragged forward finally followed and inched closer to my husband. I was standing right behind him, and from where I stood, I could see the inside of his forearm, bloody, the knife in his other hand repeatedly cutting something into it.

_Stop it! Carlisle!_

"Stop it!"

Before my husband could stand and turn, I was in front of him, on my knees, tearing the silk of my nightgown from my body, covering his bloodied arm, as I desperately tried to stop the flow of blood.

His instant reaction was to push my body away from him, the gown sliding away from his arm, and for a split second, I recognized the cut he engraved onto his skin. My name. And the picture on the coffee table was of me. The day I stood in the midst of the lavender farm, under the willow where he proposed, my amethyst engagement ring sparkling in the bright sun's ray.

Finding my shaky voice, I looked up at my husband, his eyes filled with unshed tears, anger and resentment in his glare, yet I could feel the ache of his heart reaching for me. "Carlisle, please…" I begged, "Let's stop this. We don't have to be this way…"

As I was pushed to the ground, my weak body shaking, I stayed rooted to my spot, no longer able to move one single inch, my tears uncontrollably and frantically running down the sides of my face. In the unbearable silence, I felt my husband's pain. Somewhere deep down, where even I couldn't set foot on, he was hurting. Another set of tears spilled from my eyes, because of one single thought. _'Why can't you tell me, Carlisle…? I'm your wife…'_

"We don't have to be this way…" I heard myself repeat the words that left my lips without permission.

"Yes, we do! I have to keep punishing myself!"

I lifted my head and raised my eyes to see my husband through the curtain of my caramel tresses obstructing my sight. "Punish yourself…?"

"It's my fault, Esme."

Struggling to steady my voice, I asked, "What's your fault, Carlisle?"

"The fact that you can no longer bring a child into this world."

His words cut me like the sharp edge of an ice block slicing my skin. And in a flash of a second, I was transported three years back into our married life.

~o~

_"Dr. Cullen, we got the test results. I'm sorry; your wife had another miscarriage. I know this is difficult and I wish I could give you more hopeful news but right now, I need to return to run more tests on her."_

_"Yes, I understand, but could you please tell me one thing first, doc? What is the percentage of the chances of her getting pregnant again and being able to carry the child to full term?"_

_"Dr. Cullen, I think we both know you know the answer to that. Even though your specialty isn't Gynecology, I know that you're aware of the fact that after a woman has had three miscarriages, add to that the age factor for fertility, her chances of conceiving and carrying a child to full term reduces significantly. I'm terribly sorry."_

_Even though they were speaking several feet away from where I lay on my depressing hospital bed, I could hear them clearly and could easily read the words off their lips. I could never bring a child into the world. Every child of the three I ever carried so far only stayed with me for a few weeks before my body rejected them._

~o~

Too unbearable and intolerable for me to keep, I had set aside that memory from my mind which was successfully pushed back into the deepest recesses of my brain and now was undeniably and irreversibly called forth by my husband's mention. And then the realization hit me. My husband felt guilt. A very strong sense of guilt for what happened.

"But it wasn't your fault!" I cried desperately. "It was mine! There is something wrong with my body!"

My husband was in front of me in a second, on his knees, his hands cupping my cheeks lovingly and carefully. "No, love, it could never be your fault. I'm a doctor. I should have found some way for you to be able to carry a child to full term."

For the first time in a long time, my husband's tears appeared. Aghast, I watched on. This magnificent man who was my husband shouldn't have tears running down his face. Tears weren't part of his beauty, and yet, in some way, his cheeks were painted with such vivid eccentricity and I was captivated by the intense flow of the salty clear liquid.

"As a doctor, and as your husband, I have failed you."

For a still minute, I had to take this in until his words registered and angered me. For I didn't feel at all like Carlisle failed me. He was as devastated as I was when we received the news. "No matter how many times I apologize, I know it won't change every wrongdoing I've done to you. I will never forgive myself, nor should you give me the forgiveness I don't deserve."

Before he could speak any further, I felt my body plunge forward and fall into his arms, where for once, I didn't feel frightened, but safe. His hands rested on my hair, slowly stroking down soothingly before his fingers entangled in them, as he slowly lifted my head for me to meet his tear-glazed eyes.

"It may not make sense, but I needed to punish myself. The harsh realization that the only thing that could hurt me was if you were hurt, crushed me. So every single time, Esme… Every single time I hurt you, I was…"

He didn't need to finish what he was saying. I finished it myself. "Hurting yourself even more…" I managed to choke out, ending the difficult admission for him.

"Three days ago, I couldn't bear the thought of you wanting to kill yourself, and suddenly I realized I've hurt you too much already. Since that night, I punished myself for punishing you."

I was a wreck. We were both a wreck. Our bodies trembled nonstop with racking sobs, tears and wails echoing deep into the night. My hand reached up to cover my mouth to stifle the agonizing noises trying to escape my lips. The pain in my chest was swelling up; I could feel it wanting to burst out from my body, my heart wanting to escape the restricting confines of the emotional distress I was feeling.

For what seemed like hours, neither of us moved, both of us weeping and bleeding into the late hours until the first ray of sunlight peeked into our room.

"I've been angry at myself for a very long time. And though I know it isn't just, I wanted you to be hurting too. You are so much stronger than I am, Esme. I envied your ability to keep smiling even after you received that heartbreaking news…"

The gentleness of his voice was such a warm welcome in this stressful relationship but his words weren't what I wanted to hear.

"Is that what you think, Carlisle? That I'm much stronger than you? I kept smiling for you. I wanted to stay strong for you. That was the only thing I felt I could do after letting you down. Giving you a child was one of my dreams I wanted so badly to come true. Every night, I couldn't stop my tears. I wasn't strong at all. I felt useless and worthless after hearing I could no longer bear any children. I thought it would be the end of our marriage, the end of my life. The only reason I continued living is you. I have you, Carlisle. As long as you're by my side, what else could I want and need in life?"

He didn't respond to this. Instead, he proposed something so preposterous I couldn't believe my own ears. "Esme, I think it's best if we divorce. This has gotten out of hand. I have gotten out of hand. There's something truly, deeply wrong with me. I need to figure that out on my own. I put you through so much, I can't bear to live with the memories of the pain I inflicted upon you. You can't be with me. I don't want to hurt you more than I already have."

"Leaving me would be the greatest pain you'd inflict upon me."

"Love, you're not safe with me. Remembering the past months is too excruciating to bear –"

"Then don't. Don't remember it, darling… But always remember that I love you. No matter what, back then, and even now, more than ever. I love you. Do not ever thinking of leaving me. We can face this together. I have never wanted to leave you. I'll never leave you and I'll never let you leave me. Never."

My arms clung around his neck for dear life, my fingers sliding through the strands of his hair on his nape. There was no way I was going to lose him. Not now, not ever.

My husband tipped my head back up and I could see clearly in his eyes that he couldn't comprehend how after all that's happened, I didn't want us to be separated, how much I still loved him.

"Esme, I don't deserve your forgive–"

Before he could finish his sentence, I pulled my body with what strength I had left and pressed my bruised and swollen lips to his. His arms enveloped me and held me tightly and I could slowly but surely feel that he was starting to be my strength once again. As our lips parted several seconds later, my husband rested his forehead against mine. Breathing in, breathing out, we relished each other's presence, inhaling and exhaling the air we both exchanged. His hands cupped my face once more and I could hear the guilty pain in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Esme, love… I'm so damn sorry!"

Another hour passed us by as our tears ran unceasingly down our cheeks, both of us worn out from the exhaustion it brought about.

As the birds chirped merrily outside our window, and the sun steadily rose into the pink-tainted sky, my husband slowly helped me up from the floor and led me to his bed, where we laid in silence, our bloodied, beaten and bruised bodies aching, facing each other, his arm around my waist, his hand gentle, soft and smooth on my back, the other hand stroking my hair, my hand resting above his heart while with my other rested above my own. This small connection between our two hearts beating signaled a new beginning for me. No more secrets, no shadows cast over the truth. Everything was out in the open.

"You're trembling, love."

I then felt the quivers that shook me and I smiled weakly at my husband at the realization that he was too. "So are you."

The sudden warmth of the blanket covering both our bodies earned an instant sigh of relief from me and as I rested my head against my husband's bare chest, the steady beating of his heart calmed my erratic little one and it slowly lulled me to sleep.

~o~

I stirred in my sleep to the scent of lavender, but from my subconscious, I knew it wasn't coming from the room where I was in. Awakening to reality, I began to panic. What if yesterday was all just a dream? And if it wasn't, would my husband revert back to punishing me? Frantically, I sat up and looked around the room and my heart sank to my stomach to find the other side of the bed empty. I longed to slip my fingers between his, yearned to feel his gentle kiss on my cheek. I could feel tears starting to form once more and I felt extremely annoyed at myself for crying so much.

But then I noticed a bathrobe at the end of the bed and I silently slipped it on and followed the lavender scent wafting from the bathroom inside the master's bedroom. And there he was.

My husband in the bathtub, his head tossed back against the edge of the tub, his eyes closed. He looked so peaceful but then I heard him wince slightly as he moved and I knew it was the lashes on his back that were stinging in the waves of the water. I myself couldn't bear to clean my own wounds since the water seemed to just worsen the pain.

He finally took note of me standing mutely by the doorway and he reached his hand out to me, pleading me to join him.

I hesitated. "It pains my wounds…"

In his eyes, I saw a hint of regret and my husband got out of the tub, his body pausing right before me. His lips on mine, brushing past mine in swift, gentle strokes. His hands, cupping my cheeks, down the sides of my neck, his mouth planting soft kisses on my cheeks, down the column of my throat.

His body circled mine, his warmth behind me, his breath tingling my skin, his hands carefully disrobing me, the bathrobe slowly sliding off my body, pooling around my feet on the floor. My husband's hands caressed my naked skin as his lips met my nape, moving upward to my earlobe, his tongue grazing over it.

"I won't let it hurt you," he whispered to me and the silent promise in the seduction of his reassurance lured me in.

He led me into the tub where he rested back on while I took my place between his legs, his arms enfolding my waist protectively. The water wasn't as unbearable as I thought it would be. The soothing lavender oil mixed with the heat of the water seemed to work wonders. And the fragrance itself drifted me off to a deep relaxation.

I felt my husband's lips all over me. Pressed on the top of my head, the side of my cheek which I slightly leaned back to meet his kiss, down to the side of my neck where he eagerly sucked on while his hands wandered all over my body. His mouth travelled to my shoulder, kissing the long lash across it then gifting my other shoulder the same attention. I sensed his intention of wanting to heal my wounds with every kiss he showered upon them.

The electrifying touch of his magnificent hands exploring my skin stirred something deep in me and as they finally cupped my breasts, a low moan filled the dank corners of the dimly lit bathroom. I was astounded it came from me. It was remarkable that my husband could jump from being a violent, controlling dominatrix to suddenly be the gentle, passionate lover capable of enflaming my desire in less than a minute just with the lightest touch of his nimble fingers and powerful hands.

"Esme, love…" His half-moan half-whisper calling out for me made my body tingle.

One hand reached up for my cheek to tilt my face to the side, just to have his lips capture mine. My arm swung around, cupping the back of his head while my body slightly leaned to the side, twisting around to find myself on my knees, facing him full frontal, my hands now resting on his shoulders as his kiss deepened, urging my lips to part with the light brushes of his tongue against them.

Languorous open-mouthed kisses intensified into a torrid battle of tongues and I found my hands gently sloping through the wide expanse of his chest to the broadness of his shoulders, down to his narrow waist, my fingers trailing along the strength of his thighs. The slow exploration of his skin under the warm water was an ultimately pleasant change in our sexual relationship.

I was aware of the growing erection between my body and my husband's and before my hand could travel to it, I felt a shift in the water, and suddenly I was swept off my feet and I found myself in his arms as he carried me to our bedroom.

The comfort of our bed was one I'd so long longed for. There was an unspoken wisdom that this was our sanctuary. This was the one place for us to be fully at ease.

After he gently set me down on our bed, I watched my husband ease himself down onto it, his body slowly covering mine, his hands winding in my hair once again as my arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to my heated, needy body.

As needy as I was and as ready as he was, we both took our time. Careful not to handle each other too roughly. Enjoying the moments as we savored the taste of each other's skin.

My fingers slipped into his hair as his head lowered to my neck, his lips planting a light kiss upon it, letting it travel down further, past my collarbones, down my breast, his lips enclosing over my pert nipple, gaining himself a mouthful of moans as my other breast was caressed by his hand, his finger flicking over the taut peak of it.

Each kiss, each lick over my wounds, every silent request for forgiveness coursed through my body with his apologetic hands, lips, kisses, and tongue.

I wanted nothing more but to have him buried deep inside me, but I waited. I wanted my husband to find the strength and courage to forgive himself as I have done.

His mouth slanted over mine and I welcomed the languid motion rippling across my parted lips. The leisurely relaxing foreplay touched and warmed my soul, and I felt so relieved to finally have this connection with my husband after what seemed like an eternity.

But not only did this warm my soul, it ignited my need for him, and with one long look into his captivating blue-gray eyes, I clutched onto him, holding so tight onto him for fear of losing him and losing myself as he entered me in such painstaking placidity that made my tears flow. This was more than I could have ever hoped for.

His thrusts, so tender, so loving, so slow, filling me inch by inch, unhurried, the rolling of his hips pushing me further into a state of blissful ecstasy with the tender caress of his hands, the feather light touch of his lips against mine, his strong arms wrapping around my fragile body so protectively, so possessively, prolonging the passionate flame building between us.

With my legs and arms wrapped around him, his lips never leaving mine, his own tears falling on my cheeks confirming the months behind us really occurred, the pain of all our sessions now coming back to us, but with his release and my undoing, as his name rolled off my lips in undulating waves and my name being repeatedly whispered into my ear, we carefully left the past behind.

My husband's forehead rested against mine, his body stilled and unmoving with both of us still connected. Our hearts beating was the only sounds I could hear, and the forgiveness hanging in the air illuminated the unlit bedroom along with the sun streaks that climbed up the house wall to shine through our peach draperies.

Rolling himself off me, my husband rested on his side and as he smiled at me and kissed me one last time before closing his eyes, I saw him mouth the three words I so longed to hear.

For once, I felt a real smile creeping up my lips before my own eyes closed.

A soundless stirring woke me up from my nap. My hazy sight catching the wonderful picture of my husband's sleeping face made me smile again. Waiting awhile for my senses to awake fully, my fingers brushed away the blonde strands of my husband's hair from his forehead and I watched him continue to sleep in peace.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, knocking my drowsy mind out of dreamland, pushing it into the harsh cruel world of consciousness, the unsettling thought I had in the bathroom distressed me. Remarkable that my husband could jump so easily from being violent to being this careful with me, but frightening at the same time. If it was this easy for him to change so quickly, what assurance did I have that I'd never again be molested the way he had done just four days ago…?

I shook away the insecurities and replaced them with the blinding trust I had, remembering our wedding night, where I entrusted my whole body, whole self, and my whole heart and soul to him for him to take care of.

This was my husband, and now I knew what other kind of person he had the ability to become. I always thought I've seen every personality he could ever possess, just like how incredibly sexy and entertainingly immoral he became when he was drunk, how he acted when he was high, yes, we did try it once for some marital fun, how he'd get furious with himself when he smoked during some of our occasional drinking sessions, feeling guilty and hypocritical but still giving in to peer pressure, or in those cases, wife pressure.

How amazingly sympathetic he was when my parents died, how he behaved when his mother passed away, leaving just his father as the only other person both of us could turn to with some of our marital troubles.

Now that I was aware of his dark, violent personality that could emerge in a state of extreme guilt, I felt another chapter of our married life open and it was time for me to fill the pages with what I learned. That even though after nine years of being married to this wonderful man, I still didn't know everything that was possible to know about him. Not until you've encountered every possible situation, whether it be heartbreaking, life-threatening or overwhelming with joy, you'll never really know the person you love, for certain circumstances always trigger a different personality calling for a different behavior from each unique individual.

And just like myself, I never expected to find myself mere minutes away from death's door as I stepped onto that chair before my husband's harsh voice pulled me back to reality. I was a doctor's wife, and life to me, was as important as it was to him. We both treasured it. It was something very precious to us both. So the thought of suicide was something taboo to me. But then, nine years into my marriage, I came to a point in my life where I was suffering too much that the thought of something as offensive as suicide penetrated my mind and I was offering myself up to the fiery fires of hell after just one day of thinking it through. Even I myself didn't know my own capabilities of who I could become. I guess only when the situation calls for it, will you really know who you are.

I realized that vicious man very much capable of hurting me during those sessions of punishment may not be the man I married, but he still is the man I got married to. The controlling, brutal side of my husband was just another part of the man I married, one that I only got to know nine years into our married life.

No matter what, I married my husband and took my vow of "through good times and bad times," and even if the bad changed my husband for the worse, those vows stand. It's a vow that bound me to him for eternity, a vow I unwaveringly declared in front of him and our parents.

For whoever he could become, I accepted him with all my heart, unconditionally, as my husband. This was the way I love him. This was the only way I knew how to love him.

"I love you." It was a mere whisper, and I was a little startled that he was awake, but I clearly heard the adoration, devotion and respect in his words and in that single moment of his profession of love, all my doubts instantly subsided.

"I love you too…"

My husband leaned forward and I received the kiss on my cheek that brought back so many memories of us as newly-weds. We were that couple once again. And this time, I wouldn't let anything stand in our way to remain that happy couple from nine years ago. I looked forward with eager excitement that everything would be back to normal, but little did we know, not everything would be as how it was, for on that bright sunny May morning when my husband made love to me after our bathtub healing, we created a miracle that eagerly planted itself in my womb, pushing to persevere the whole nine months to grow…

We healed our wounds together, shared our pain, laughed again, spent time together in our garden, made love again and again…

Until we received the delightful news that I was twelve weeks pregnant. Three months has been the longest time I held a fetus inside me, and that caused both of us euphoric bliss. Happiness returned to both our lives and to add to the celebration, my husband proposed to me that same day for a renewal of our vows on our tenth anniversary.

During my second trimester, the first kick that came in was exactly the time when my husband laid his gentle hands on my growing tummy as he sang to our baby. It seemed like our baby recognized its father's voice.

My husband took extreme care of me while I was pregnant, and from what I saw with the way he handled me, the way the excitement and anticipation in his eyes gleamed, I knew for certain, he would be an amazing father. And just as I thought it, he said in a hushed voice as if not to disturb our still baby, who we assumed was asleep right then, "You're going to be a wonderful mother, Esme, love." I thanked God in prayer for my husband, the rate our healthy baby was developing and never missed praying ever since.

As our tenth wedding anniversary approached, my belly has swollen to a size I have never experienced before and as we renewed our vows in the Church where we wed ten years ago, we received the spectacular surprise of our baby's wish to join our family a little too soon for it was still several days early from the date our obstetrician predicted. So on the day we renewed our vows, I was rushed to the hospital to greet **_him_** into the world… And thus, at the age of thirty-nine and thirty-three, Carlisle and I finally became parents as we welcomed our beloved baby boy into the family…

**_~fin~_**

**Author's Note: That was the "sort of happy" ending to Carlisle and Esme' relationship. If you wish to, you may read the other ending. Do tell me which one you preferred more if you do read the bad ending as well.**

**Leave me some love and review, will ya? Thanks.**

**~Aoi.**


	4. Bad Ending: Last Resort

**Disclaimer: **For the last time, I don't own the Twilight Saga.

**Author's Note:** (_January 3, 2013_) This is the "angsty" ending to Carlisle and Esme's relationship.

**~Chapter Four~**

Head bent, arms and legs spread, teardrops splattering all over the floor, along with the blood-red liquid flowing from the open gashes on my skin, the clear fluid dripping out my mouth, the salty droplets of my sweat dripping, my body leaning lifelessly forward, my wrists and ankles tightly cuffed to keep me restrained against the chilly iciness of the basement wall.

It's been a little over a month since I received the bloody cut of letters across my thighs, and I was barely holding on to life today. Days seemed to pass by in a hazy blur through my weary, bloodshot eyes, filled with a handful of draining sessions, incessant tirade of my husband's anger as my health deteriorated thus leading to the instability of my overly fatigued body thereby leaving the house unattended to, accompanied by vomit as I tried to force myself to keep my meals down for nutrition, and the unending cascade of my tears.

His lustful anger took a large step into torturing me to my impending death. Forced into full submission, my body got beaten, bruised, abused, branded, burnt, cut, sliced open with new tools like the unforgiving whip repeatedly stinging my body until blood appeared from the open lashes, a riding crop marking my skin blistering red, and the steel iron in the form of a letter C to brand me for eternity, the searing dent of the letter deeply engraved onto my back.

I was so tired. So exhausted. Tired of crying, tired of the sobs racking my body, so sick and tired of the punishment he laid upon me day by day, still in the dark as to what I had done to deserve such mistreatment.

He wasn't around. He was at work. While I haven't seen anything but the darkness of this bleak, depressing prison of mine for two days in a row. My shame, my bodily fluids, all mixing on the floor at my feet, but I no longer felt humiliation or disgrace. Stripped of every emotion within, I was long gone. There was nothing left within me, no strength to fight. All that was left was the repetitive wish for death.

I had no idea if I was going insane, for by the time my husband arrived, I was screaming at the top of my lungs, like a deranged lunatic. I wondered if I was trying to call for help, for I sounded like a wounded animal being slaughtered, the desperation in my wails trying to reach one human soul out in our neighborhood. I knew it was a futile mission for this basement was so deep underground, even if there were people in the floor above, they wouldn't be privy to any personal secretive obsession going on down here.

Every time I screamed, a slap across my face would silence me. But not this time. This time, the more he hit me, the more the mental state of my madness would get triggered into shrieking, the pitch of my cracked voice so high it almost felt like I could shatter glass. The sound of the harsh knock of my head against the stone wall behind me reverberated through my skull and my ears as I lost the ability to breathe, his hand clasping around my neck so viciously brutish.

I wouldn't be surprised if he'd finish me off now. I could feel myself slipping away already, losing myself in the blackness as my eyes fluttered close. So close, so close…

_Do it! Do it!_

But reality wasn't that forgiving. I knew he wouldn't give me the satisfaction of rest through death. If I wouldn't be around, he'd no longer have anyone to punish, and where would that lead him to? Jail, if he'd start punishing other people. He needed me. I was essential to his living. He lived through this, felt alive only during these sessions. As much as he probably hated me for it, he needed me.

Gasping desperately for life as his hand released its hold on me, I exhaled and inhaled, so dizzy from hunger, so weak from these sessions, and the choking sensation sent my stomach reeling until I felt my throat constrict without the help of his tight grasp, and before I could control it, the retching feeling pushed its way forward, the disturbingly clear liquid falling all over the floor, my liquefied vomit merging with the many stains on the ground before me.

Filthy. So filthy, so nasty. How could he stand coming back down here with this horrible stench pervading the air, suffocating us both with the nauseating bile and filthiness at my feet? How he kept the basement clean after every session was a huge mystery to me. But being imprisoned for two straight days down here, this was the filthiest state this room has ever undergone.

The restraints loosened around my wrists and ankles and in one harsh pull of gravity, my whole body dropped to my knees and hands, my skin blending with the mix of urine, the sliminess of saliva, dampness of sweat, pools of tears, drops of dried and wet blood, and the new addition of my watery vomit.

I urged my body to crawl forward, to separate myself from the disgusting fluids that all came from me, to stop myself from vomiting my intestines out. It wasn't easy. Being shackled for two days in a row made my muscles numb, my bones aching from tightening, clenching cramps. Still, I pushed, pulled and dragged until my feet were the only ones left planted in the revolting combination of everything that left me with no ounce of shame.

Raising my head, I caught the sight of my husband's naked body before me, standing so erect, so proud. While my body's condition worsened, his seemed to be brimming with strength, power and life. But as I lifted my eyes to meet his, I was instantly terrified. His eyes were nothing I have ever seen before. So blank, so lifeless. I then realized we were both gone. Deranged. Mad. Crazy. These sessions were our only way of living, spurring us forward with our tedious, monotonous routine of daily life where we'd pretend nothing wrong was going on in our relationship.

The truth swept under the rug, secrets hidden in the dark corners of this room, recreating this home into our very own prison, and this basement our cell.

Harshly hauled up to my feet by the tight painful grasp of his hands around my arms, then dragged to the table against the wall, my back cracking at the hard contact of the hard surface hitting my spine, the lower half of my body dangling limply from the edge like a mere pathetic rag doll, incapable of doing anything by myself, needing the help of my master to mold me into every position he wanted me in.

In no less than a second, his penetration reawakened all my senses, so quick, so unloving, so unkind, this sexual act devoid of all emotion, lacking in warmth, the connection between a married couple completely, absolutely, downright absent.

_More! Harder!_

I wanted him to crush me, break me, shatter me, smash me, pierce me. The more he did, the faster the reality of my wish for death advanced. This relationship was messed up, and this realization hit me long ago, but I couldn't ever bring myself to acknowledge it.

With much effort, I swung my arm to cover my eyes, to conceal the tears that admitted that I was past broken, that this marriage was past ruined, these nine years spent together no longer having a significant meaning to either of us, the past months happening inacceptable, spent torn apart.

His thrusts, so unemotional, so detached, so animalistic in its utmost basest nature, split me in half, cracking from the deepest point of my core, paring every inch of me that came into its contact, stretching my body in half, ripping my soul along with it, ominously creeping up my body, threatening to shred me into pieces.

The mark of his hands wrapped around my thighs, the dent of his nails etched into my skin, the hardness of his length ramming inside me while his emotionless gaze held mine, were now the only proof that my husband was still with me.

I couldn't bear the thought any longer that this is what became of us, of our marriage, of our vows we made nine years ago. My filthy hands reached up to shut my eyes from the intensity of his frightening, lifeless glare, as my body continuously shook with the heavy sobs, each one countered by his forceful shoves, my tears falling with each one, the wails of agony, anguish and my torment leaving my lips without need for permission.

How long were we going to continue on like this? How much more pain would we both have to go through to get back to how we were before? How many more sessions will he need until he's had enough?

Wild, erratic, the table slamming against the wall repeatedly in time with his rough, hard, piercing stabbing within me, his hands tightening around my thighs, the pain of his grip causing me to cry out aloud, numbing me to the sensation of feeling the rush of his climax spurt inside me.

As his body left mine, my own slumped down to the ground as I let my body lead me to my peaceful stupor. The coldness of the floor drained the warmth from my cheeks, just as I felt his seed leaving the cavern of my nether lips. Everything left me. Everything was slowly drawing out from within me. I was losing myself to the emptiness inside, huddling, inching toward the nothingness awaiting me.

As my body lay motionless against the iciness of the ground, the vision of my husband lifting the gun to the side of his head flashed before my eyes and before I could even blink away my tears, the blaring sound of the bullet's impact as his finger pulled the trigger immediately echoed off the walls, my scream blending into it, followed by the dead pause until a soft _clank _on the ground interrupted the silent aftermath, the bouncing, rolling shell of the bullet resounded until everything seemed to stop.

Time ceased, my body frozen in place, my eyes glued to the falling figure of my husband.

The mellow thud of his body hitting the floor seemed so gentle, a little too gentle.

There he was, his naked form mere inches from mine, as his blood stained the floor, his body twitching in convulsions.

With excruciating effort, I scrambled my way to him, dragging my body, my stomach grinding against the rough edges of the floor, my knees, legs, arms, elbows, hands, every inch of my skin scraping, my wounds gaping, I made my way to him.

His lips were moving, but only croaking sounds left his lips. I myself couldn't form any words.

"Forgive me…"

I loved him despite all the heartbreak he caused upon me, despite all the emotional breakdowns I had because of him. I never stopped loving him. I've always loved my husband. I never hated him. Not once. I may have felt nothing for him at some point, but never hate. I couldn't. I knew everything he did was to show me he still loved me. So there was nothing to forgive. Nothing at all. I wish I could've told him that.

As my immobile body rested beside him, my hands in fists upon his chest, I felt the burning heat of renewed tears streak down my cheeks. I listened to the faint shallow breaths of my husband and tried to find the feeble beat of his weakening heart. It was giving out. The amount of blood dripping from the side of his head spilling onto the floor was a clear indication that nothing and no one could save him now.

"Esme…"

I held my breath hearing his loving, tender voice say out my name. Through the pain and agony I could so clearly hear, I noted the gentleness and reverence in his voice as he called out for me, like my name on his lips was a sacred prayer of worship.

"I'm so sorry…"

_'You don't have to tell me that, Carlisle,' _I thought to myself. Again, I wish I could've told him but my throat felt blocked, my tongue dry, my lips paralyzed.

"I love you…"

I wish I could've said it back as well… For with those three words, he took his last breath. Those last three words…

The pain in my chest seemed to intensify as a sharp, excruciating, restricting feeling seemed to clench my heart together and press it until it felt like it was about to burst into tiny shards of glass. The ache didn't stop and I felt like I could suffocate from the tight confines it pushed onto my fragile heart.

For what seemed like hours, I laid there beside my dead husband on our cold basement floor and stared into his pale blue lifeless eyes that stared back at me.

Even in death, he was beautiful.

As the painful reality of my husband's death dawned upon me, I realized that this was unacceptable. I wanted him to be alive. I didn't care how much more pain he'd inflict upon me, I wanted him living, breathing and punishing me. I wanted to him to hurt me some more, make me feel alive; make me feel like this relationship was still worth saving because if it were really past the point of being saved, there would be no connection at all. Yet every night, he still dared to touch me. I knew now that it simply meant I was still too important in his life to be ignored.

The cruel reality of my situation hit me full force and for what seemed like hours, I wept, yelled and screamed at the top of my lungs, my body shaking with pathetic sobs. Once again, I was left all alone down here in our gloomy, dismal basement to bear the burden of shouldering this messed up relationship all by myself.

Anger poured forth from inside me at the loss of my husband and the frustration within me sent me jumping to my feet, my arms wailing in desperation, my hands finding the table, clutching on it until my fists turned pale white. My tear-glazed sight rested upon all the equipment laying still on the hard surface, and before I could stop myself, my hands smashed everything against the stone walls, broken pieces ricocheting off them, some bouncing back to me, sending a sharp slice of pain past my delicate skin, but I was too numb to feel anything except for the emotional downfall of the loss of my life. He was my life. Carlisle, my husband, who I loved unconditionally, irrevocably, for all eternity, was now gone forever.

Through the torrent of my tears, my gaze settled upon my husband's dead body then lingered on the gun that was inches from where he lay.

I loved him. I loved him. I loved him to the point that the thought of him dying triggered my own sense of urgency to follow him right away into the abyss of hell. There certainly wouldn't be a place for us in heaven. Not with the way we'd die…

Taking the gun in my hand, positioning it to the side of my head, my finger ready to pull the trigger, I closed my eyes and counted to five.

_One…_

_I'm coming, Carlisle…_

_Two…_

_I won't let you leave me like this…_

_Three…_

_You know I can never live without you…_

_Four…_

_Click!_

The lack of a bullet impacting my skull with the deafening bang made me snap my eyes open.

"Why…?"

At the realization that only one bullet was inside, my fingers quickly checked the other slots of the gun confirming my assumption and as the boiling anger surfaced within me, sending the gun crashing into the opposite wall, my body lunged forward and fell against my dead husband's, my fists now beating against his chest.

"WHY?!"

Yelling with all my might, my frustrated anger at my husband blending with the inner turmoil of my other confused feelings, I smashed my fists repeatedly against his chest, craving, longing, begging for a response.

"Why, Carlisle! Why! Why didn't you leave me the same option to follow you...?!"

The warmth of my husband's body was long gone under my fists that now flattened out, my palms trying to recapture the remaining heat of his body.

"Come back to me… Please…"

Time passed, my tears dried up, and only silence followed.

Everything I did afterwards seemed like I was watching someone else carrying it out. I watched myself get rid of all the equipment he used to punish me. I wanted people to keep the way they saw Dr. Carlisle Cullen as compassionate, kind and a gentleman. I wanted to keep his reputation clean. In fact, I didn't mind as I watched myself transfer all the gadgets to my room.

_'Let them think I was a dirty whore who enjoyed pleasuring herself with all these,' _I told myself. _'If it keeps from Carlisle's reputation being soiled.'_

His body was beautiful. Naked in the dark under the only source of light in our cold, confining basement, blood painting his unusually pale skin, he was entrancing.

Mesmerizing. Glorious. Dead.

To the best I could do, the basement was cleared off any signs of what occurred down here every night. Only the chair that I always was strapped to remained in the room, along with the rope that was used to strap me into it sitting in my place, plus the shackles that hung against the wall that I didn't have the knowledge to take down, just like the chain hanging from the ceiling with the hook at its end.

I needed some of these materials. I needed them to see my lover again. After working on the rope to create a makeshift noose, I fastened it onto the hook.

Kneeling down beside my husband, I leaned over and pressed my lips to his cold, pale ones.

_'So lifeless, yet so beautiful.' _I couldn't stop admiring my husband and be envious of his beauty in his death.

_'We'll be together now, Carlisle…' _I thought to myself as I stepped up onto the chair.

I was familiar with this choking feeling. I could almost imagine it was my husband's hand around my neck and I welcomed it with love. The familiar feeling of getting the air cut off from my lungs awakened all my memories with my husband.

The day we met, the day he asked my parents for permission to court me, the day he proposed, the moment he slid the engagement ring onto my finger, our wedding day, our first night together, greeting him back from work after kissing him goodbye in the morning…

The delicious memories of seeing him naked with only an apron while making breakfast in an attempt to make me laugh whenever I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, the arousing moments of stolen kisses in front of a busy audience, the endearing minutes of a kiss with an attentive audience, the amusing hours of laughter in our garden…

We were happy. We were happily married. And even after all that's occurred in the past months, I knew there was still an ounce of happiness, especially since neither of us decided to leave the other. Even in the end, we loved each other.

And with my last breath, I barely managed to choke it out, wishing, hoping and praying that somehow, somewhere, he'd hear me.

"I love you too…"

This was the only way I could love him now. This was the only way I could show him how.

**[EPILOGUE]**

The relentless ringing out in the hallway awoke me with a start. Groaning, I got up from the bed and sluggishly made my way to the annoying shrill of the telephone. Rubbing my eyes, I took the receiver and held it up to my ear and answered with all the clarity I could muster through my grogginess. "Swan."

"Chief Swan, there were a lot of reports that flooded in today about the Cullens."

My mind unexpectedly felt alert all of a sudden. "What's this about?"

"Well, seemingly, Dr. Cullen hasn't showed up to work for four days now. He hasn't been answering his pager, nor has his wife been answering their home phone or the door, when neighbors went to visit. Today's the fifth day and their house is still as an empty nest. We're sending over a squad car right now with officers ready to break into the home."

"I'll be right over."

What in God's name was going on? The Cullens were one of the friendliest people this neighborhood could have, and I liked Dr. Carlisle and his lovely wife, Esme, very much the first day I welcomed them to town. My wife was even smitten with the blonde doctor.

Changing quickly into my uniform then planting a light kiss on my wife's forehead, I rushed to the door, but her voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Charlie? Is everything alright?"

Walking back to the bed where my wife was struggling to sit upright, I spoke to her calmly without alarming her about news of the Cullens that made my heart race inexplicably. Somehow, I knew there was something wrong going on. "Renée, honey, I'm called in for duty. I'll be back soon, I promise."

"Alright," she whispered sleepily and with one last kiss on her cheek, I left, my feet rushing to the Cullens' home.

~o~

Nothing could have prepared me for the sight that distorted my vision and destroyed every pleasant image I had of the doctor, side by side with his wife. Blood wasn't much of a deal to me, but this huge amount of blood was sickening and not at all something common here in this town.

Flashes of cameras flickered in the dim light of this depressing and claustrophobic basement. Before the stench filled my nostrils and smothered me with the thick, clammy air in the underground room, I quickly emerged from the stairs, desperate to inhale fresh air. My hand flew to my mouth instantly, trying to prevent the lurching feeling of my stomach to reach my throat.

I watched as officers searched every room while waiting until the dead bodies of the two people everyone seemed to look up to was bagged and carried out from the basement. Could it even still be called that? By the looks of it, it had become a torture chamber.

The reeking smell of dried blood permeated the air and the shackles against the wall spoke of such oddity in the nature of the couple we all admired. It all became even more cryptic as an officer handed me a clear bag full of adult toys coming from Mrs. Cullen's room.

What in heaven's name happened here?

Investigation ensued, but as I stood in the clear, clean basement, putting the puzzle pieces together, hearing the causes of death, it was clear they both committed suicide. The doctor, naked, in the middle of the basement surrounded by the immense amount of his blood, gun not far away from his body, one bullet shot, the other shells empty. As for Mrs. Cullen's bare body – hanging by the rope around her neck, the tightness imprinted so clearly on her skin.

Another thing nagged on the back of my mind. Why did Esme have so many bruises? Was there domestic violence involved here? I immediately dreaded going back home. How would I be able to break this news to my wife who was such a huge fan of the good doctor and his wife? My cellphone rang, breaking the train of my assumptions and I picked up right away.

"Chief Swan, please make your way down here immediately. Autopsy showed some interesting things you might want to know about."

"I'm on my way."

~o~

"Heartbreaking news to hear the Cullen couple committed suicide. It's such a waste, they were about to receive good news, if only they'd lived for a little longer."

I turned around from the cadavers lying on the center table in the middle of the morgue and faced the doctor holding the little clipboard on which he was busily scribbling on, "What do you mean?"

"Well, based on the autopsy, Chief Swan," he started then paused as his scribbling stopped and he looked up from his writing, "we found out that Esme… was six weeks pregnant."

**_~fin~_**

**Author's Note: That was the "angsty" ending to Carlisle and Esme's relationship. If you wish to, you may read the other ending. Do tell me which one you preferred more if you do read the happy ending as well.**

**Leave me some love and review, will ya? Thanks.**

**~Aoi.**


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